Cultural Landscapes and Environmental Changes (Key Issues in Environmental Change)

Key Issues in Environmental Change

Series Editors:

Co-ordinating Editor John A. Matthews Department of Geography, University of Wales Swansea, UK

Editors Raymond S. Bradley Department of Geosciences, University of Massachusetts, Amherst, USA Neil Roberts Department of Geography, University of Plymouth, UK Martin A.J.Williams Mawson Graduate Centre for Environmental Studies, University of Adelaide, Australia

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Preface to the series

The study of environmental change is a major growth area of interdisciplinary science. Indeed, the intensity of current scientific activity in the field of environmental change may be viewed as the emergence of a new area of 'big science' alongside such recognized fields as nuclear physics, astronomy and biotechnology. The science of environmental change is fundamental science on a grand scale: rather different from nuclear physics but nevertheless no less important as a field of knowledge, and probably of more significance in terms of the continuing success of human societies in their occupation of the Earth's surface. The need to establish the pattern and causes of recent climatic changes, to which human activities have contributed, is the main force behind the increasing scientific interest in environmental change. Only during the past few decades have the scale, intensity and permanence of human impacts on the environment been recognized and begun to be understood. A mere 5000 years ago, in the mid-Holocene, non-local human impacts were more or less negligible even on vegetation and soils. Today, however, pollutants have been detected in the Earth's most remote regions, and environmental processes, including those of the atmosphere and oceans, are being affected at a global scale. Natural environmental change has, however, occurred throughout Earth's history. Large-scale natural events as abrupt as those associated with human environmental impacts are known to have occurred in the past. The future course of natural environmental change may in some cases exacerbate human-induced change; in other cases, such changes may neutralize the human effects. It is essential, therefore, to view current and future environmental changes, like global warming, in the context of the broader perspective of the past. This linking theme provides the distinctive focus of the series and is mentioned explicitly in many of the titles listed opposite. It is intended that each book in the series will be an authoritative, scholarly and accessible synthesis that will become known for advancing the conceptual framework of studies in environmental change. In particular we hope that each book will inform advanced undergraduates and be an inspiration to young research workers. To this end, all the invited authors are experts in their respective fields and are active at the research frontier. They are, moreover, broadly representative of the interdisciplinary and international nature of environmental change research today. Thus, the series as a whole aims to cover all the themes normally considered as key issues in environmental change even though individual books may take a particular viewpoint or approach. John A. Matthews (Co-ordinating Editor)

Titles in the series

Atmospheric Pollution: an Environmental Change Perspective (Sarah Metcalfe, Edinburgh University, Scotland) Biodiversity: an Environmental Change Perspective (Peter Gell, Adelaide University, Australia) Climatic Change: a Palaeoenvironmental Perspective (Cary Mock, University of South Carolina, USA) Environmental Change at High Latitudes: a Palaeoecological Perspective (Atte Korhola and Reinhard Pienitz, Helsinki University, Finland & Laval University, Quebec, Canada) Environmental Change in Drylands (David Thomas, Sheffield University, UK) Environmental Change in Mountains and Uplands (Martin Beniston, University of Fribourg, Switzerland) Glaciers and Environmental Change (Atle Nesje and Svein Olaf Dahl, Bergen University, Norway) Natural Hazards and Environmental Change (W.J. McGuire, C.R.J. Kilburn and M.A. Saunders, University College London, UK) Pollution of Lakes and Rivers: a Palaeoecological Perspective (John Smol, Queen's University, Canada) Wetlands and Environmental Change (Paul Glaser, Minnesota University, USA)

Cultural Landscapes and Environmental Change

Lesley Head School of Geosciences, University of Wollongong, Australia

A member of the Hodder Headline Group London Co-published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press Inc., NewYork

First published in Great Britain in 2000 by Arnold, a member of the Hodder Headline Group, 338 Euston Road, London NW1 3BH http: //www.arnoldpublishers.com Co-published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press Inc., 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY10016 © 2000 Lesley Head All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without either prior permission in writing from the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the United Kingdom such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency: 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1P OLP. The advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of going to press, neither the author[s] nor the publisher can accept any legal responsibility or liability for any errors or omissions. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress ISBN 0 340 73113 3 (hb) ISBN 0 340 73114 1 (pb) 12345678910 Production Editor: Wendy Rooke Production Controller: Bryan Eccleshall Cover Design: Mouse Mat Design Typeset in lOpt Palatino by Saxon Graphics Ltd, Derby Printed and bound in Malta by Gutenberg Press What do you think about this book? Or any other Arnold title? Please send your comments to [email protected]

To the memory of Toni O'Neill (1945-1999) environmental scientist of distinction, teacher and friend to many, lover of landscapes and of cultures

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Contents

List of figures List of illustrations List of tables List of boxes Preface Acknowledgements

xii xiv xvi xvii xix xxiii

I OVERVIEW Chapter I

Contingent constructions: cultural landscapes and environmental change

3

1.0 1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4

3 3 5 7 9

Chapter summary Disappearing nature and the lessons of the past Disciplines and dualisms Contingent constructions Writing and reading this book

II METHODOLOGICALAND CONCEPTUAL TOOLS FROMTHE SCIENCES Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Transformed landscapes: human impacts and the palaeoecological record

13

2.0 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5

13 13 18 24 30 32

Chapter summary Changing the face of the Earth Landscapes of colonization Hunter-gatherer/agricultural landscapes Post-industrial impacts Strengths, limitations and future directions

The question of naturalness: environmental change in ecology and palaeoecology

34

3.0 Chapter summary 3.1 The change in environmental change 3.2 Ecology

34 34 36

X

CONTENTS

3.3 Palaeoecology 3.4 People and disturbance 3.5 Change in global environmental change research

38 40 43

III METHODOLOGICALAND CONCEPTUAL TOOLS FROM THE HUMANITIES Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The social construction of nature and landscape

49

4.0 4.1 4.2 4.3

49 49 56 57

Chapter summary Culture, nature and landscape Wild and tame Landscapes of the prehistoric past

Production of knowledge and its policy implications

66

5.0 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5

66 66 67 70 73 77

Chapter summary Researching culture and the culture of research Theorizing cultural processes in global change research Climate change Rethinking deforestation Cultural landscapes as 'discourse materalized'

IV CONTEMPORARY ISSUES AND THE LONG-TERM PERSPECTIVE Chapter 6

Protecting places

83

6.0 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4

83 83 84 94 98

Chapter summary Mechanisms of protection World Heritage cultural landscapes Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park The inheritance of future generations

Chapter 7

Restored, (p)reserved and created landscapes

7.0 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5

Chapter summary Managing for change Restored landscapes: going backwards? Preserved landscapes: freezing the present? Created landscapes: a step forward? Implications

99 99 100 111 117 118

Chapter 8

Humanized landscapes: a place for people?

119

8.0 8.1 8.2 8.3

Chapter summary Living landscapes Indigenous peoples and environmental management Developing countries

119 119 120 130

Chapter 9

Identity, heritage and tourism

136

9.0 9.1 9.2 9.3

Chapter summary Identity and the past Contested identities: landscapes of heritage Selling culture and the past: landscapes of tourism

136 136 145 147

99

CONTENTS xi

9.4

Educating the educators

152

Conclusion References Index

155 157 169

Figures

1.1 1.2 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7 2.8 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 4.1 4.2 4.3 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4

The continuum conceptualization The recursive conceptualization The natural and cultural landscapes, as conceptualized by Sauer (1925) The changing relationship between humans and the natural environment over the course of the Holocene Charcoal peaks in long continuous records from the Australian region in relation to the marine oxygen isotope record Summary of variations in sediments and signals of human activity from five locations in western Uganda New Guinea location map Sedimentary charcoal, climate and occupation sites in highland New Guinea since 20000 BP Comparison of climatic trends and human impacts in New Guinea highlands over the past 2000 years Relative importance of burning in time slices from the Holocene deduced from individual site rankings of charcoal abundance for 58 site records, and separately for different ecosystems, in south-eastern Australia Spatial and temporal scales of environmental change The Clementsian model of succession after disturbance in natural landscapes, as reproduced and critiqued by Blumler Maps showing the times of first arrival of four boreal species / genera in the eastern USA, moving northward in during the late Wisconsin and early Holocene A conceptual model illustrating humanity's direct and indirect effects on the Earth system Human dominance or alteration of several major components of the Earth system The prehistoric archaeological landscape at Loughcrew, Ireland Four views of Silbury Hill showing how the platform projects above the skyline Cultural landscape in material form; and the cognitive landscape, as originally constructed and as surviving or reconstructed Human driving forces of global environmental change July temperatures 18,000 years ago, 9000 years ago and at present: an example of the pixellated view of the world Human dimensions of global environmental change research Schematic map of anthropogenic vegetation changes in West Africa during the twentieth century, as described in an influential NASA study and critiqued by Fairhead and Leach

5 6 14 18 20 26 28 28 29 31 35 37 39 42 42 60 60 64 68 69 70 73

FIGURES xiii

5.5 Vegetation change in the localities of Toly, Fondambadou and Bamba from 1952 aerial photographs and 1989 / 92 SPOT satellite images 6.1 Some Anangu place names at Uluru 7.1 'Traditional view of restoration options for a degraded system' 7.2 The Hobbs and Norton figure after modification: the comparison of two specific areas with similar Mediterranean bioclimates 7.3 Past and future vegetation cover of New Zealand 7.4 Hedgerow replanting, East Lothian, Scotland, 1972-88 7.5 Location in Tanzania of Kilimanjaro, Arusha, Lake Manyara, Tarangire, Ruaha, national parks, and Serengeti National Park/Ngorongoro Conservation Area, and primary land use immediately adjacent to these parks 7.6 Proposed superpark spanning Zimbabwe, South Africa and Mozambique 7.7 Simulated potential distributions of Abies alba, Acer pseudoplatanus and Quercus ilex under the present climate and a mean 2 x CO2 climate as predicted by four atmospheric general circulation models (GCMs) 8.1 The Rakiura Titi Islands, southern New Zealand 8.2 Some uses of common tree and climber species found in sacred groves on the Accra Plains, Ghana 8.3 Sagamartha National Park in Khumbu, Nepal 8.4 Blumler's disturbance-heterogeneity hypothesis 9.1 'Vuollerim 6000 ar': not-so-hidden messages about ethnicity 9.2 Location map, Sannai Maruyama 9.3 Lule River, upper valley, in northern Sweden, showing the boundaries of various national parks which constitute Laponia World Heritage Area 9.4 Location of the Natal Drakensberg, South Africa 10.1 'Past and future' by Michael Leunig, as published in the Sydney Morning Herald, March 2000

74 95 102 103 104 107 114 115 116 128 133 134 135 142 143 149 152 155

Illustrations

O.la Biddy Simon digs for yams xx O.lb Yam-digging holes in dry rainforest, Keep River area, Northern Territory, Australia xx 0.2 Irrigated area near Cave Springs Range, north of Kununurra, Western Australia xxi 0.3 Coastal and estuarine landscape from five rivers lookout, near Wyndham, Western Australia xxii 2.la Excavation in progress, moa-hunting site, Shag River mouth, New Zealand 21 2.1b Excavated moa butchery area, Hawksburn site, central Otago, New Zealand 22 2.2 Bracken, tussock grassland and forest remnants, Port Hills, Canterbury, South Island, New Zealand 22 4.1 Pagoda, Namsan Mountains park, near Kyongju, South Korea 56 4.2 Enclosure, ditch and stone circles at Avebury, England, with interpretive signage 60 4.3 V-shaped fish weir built from basalt boulders, Lake Condah, south-eastern Australia 61 4.4 The White Horse of Uffington 65 6.1 Tourists watch the sunset at Uluru 96 6.2 Anangu tour brochure 97 7.1 Archaeological site protection, Murramarang, New South Wales, Australia 99 7.2 Minnamurra National Park, New South Wales, which protects a small area of rainforest 102 7.3a Agricultural landscape with hedgerows, West Lothian, Scotland 106 7.3b Land ploughed to edge of hedgerow, East Lothian, Scotland 106 7.4 River rehabilitation 109 7.5 'Williamsburg, Virginia: the main street with inn and horse-drawn tourist wagon in a "frozen" streetscape' 112 8.la Biddy Simon and Polly Wandanga dig for goanna in burnt pandanus woodland, Keep River area, Northern Territory, Australia 129 8.1b In contrast, the Bushfires Council of the Northern Territory proclaims, 'We like our lizards frilled not grilled' - road sign, Victoria Highway 129 9.1 'The heritage and identity contradictions of the former GDR: Marx and Engels stand in front of its Parliament building in the former East Berlin, while behind is the Dom, commissioned by Kaiser William II and opened in 1905' 138 9.2 Walls of China, Mungo National Park, New South Wales, Australia 140 9.3 'The road to nationhood through sacrifice in war: the Australian National Memorial in Villers-Bretonneux Military Cemetery, Somme, France' 141 9.4a Remains of circular stone monument, Komakino, near Aamori, Japan 144 9.4b Sannai Maruyama site, Aamori, Japan 144 9.4c Visitors look at excavated ground surface, Sannai Maruyama site, Aamori, Japan 144 9.5 Juxtaposition of old and new, Seoul, South Korea 146

ILLUSTRATIONS

9.6 9.7 9.8a 9.8b

Buddha relief on stone, Namsan Mountains Park, near Kyongju, South Korea Cupules of varying ages at the Jinmium rock shelter site, Northern Territory, Australia Therianthropes, North Cave, Main Caves, Giant's Castle Game Reserve, South Africa Walkway and viewing platforms, North Cave, Main Caves, Giant's Castle Game Reserve, South Africa 9.8c Interpretive diorama, South Cave, Main Caves, Giant's Castle Game Reserve, South Africa

XV

147 148 153 153 153

Tables

2.1 Selected forms of human-induced transformation of environmental components: chronologies of change 17 3.1 Examples of subtle human influences within ecosystems 43 3.2 Predicted dominant driving force and critical management issues in four latitudinal zones over the next century 44 5.1 International global environmental change programmes 72 5.2 Fairhead and Leach's suggested revisions to deforestation estimates since 1900 75 5.3 Summary of meanings given to the term 'cultural landscape' and related concepts in Norwegian and Nordic policy and applied research documents, 1987-93 78 5.4 The different discourses of cultural landscape in Norwegian and Nordic policy and applied research documents, 1987-93 79 6.1 International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) categories of protected areas 84 6.2 Comparison of ecological zones recognized by Anangu and Western land systems within Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park 95 7.1 Definitions of ecological restoration, and associated issues / problems 101 7.2 Percentage changes in field boundaries, 1972-88, in four parishes in East Lothian, Scotland 107 8.1 Examples of differences in Anangu and scientific environmental understandings 123 8.2 Amount and distribution of crop damage by animals around Kibale National Park 131 8.3 Estimated returns to livestock and wildlife utilization enterprises on communal land in Caprivi, Namibia, 1993 132

Boxes

2.1 Anthropogenic indicators in sedimentary records: some examples 2.2 Strategies and palaeoecological site selection for identification of human impacts: some examples 2.3 Scenarios and hypotheses about human presence and impacts in Central America and northern South America, 14-8 ka BP 3.1 The Quaternary fossil record as a key to the future 4.1 Putting postmodernism in a box 4.2 Linking landscape to social theory: common threads in recent debates 4.3 Landscape themes in environmental change 5.1 Key questions in social science knowledge about climate change 6.1 World Heritage Convention: paragraphs which deal with categories of cultural landscape 6.2 World Heritage Convention: paragraphs which deal with criteria for inclusion of cultural properties in the World Heritage List 6.3 World Heritage Convention: paragraphs which deal with criteria for inclusion of natural properties in the World Heritage List 6.4 World Heritage cultural heritage criteria, 1978 6.5 Nomination of Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, Australia, for inscription on the World Heritage List as a cultural landscape, 1994 7.1 Using the natural environment template to make sense of changing ecosystems in New Zealand 7.2 Some definitions of river restoration 7.3 Restoration and related concepts as used in International Council of Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) charters 7.4 Rock weathering processes affecting art in Clarens Formation sandstones, South Africa 7.5 Biotic response to future global change: predictions from the past 8.1 Aboriginal aspirations and strategies in relation to environmental issues in Australia 8.2 Summary of responses to the New Zealand Conservation Authority's (NZCA) 1994 Discussion Paper, 'Maori customary use of native birds, plants and other traditional materials' 8.3 The Rakiura / Stewart Island titi harvest 9.1 Culture 'core areas' in South Korea, as defined by the Tourist Development Office 9.2 Climbing Uluru: cultural and management dilemmas 9.3 Visitor management strategies for cultural heritage sites

15 23 23 41 50 52 55 71 85 86 87 91 94 104 108 110 112 117 122 126 127 148 151 154

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Preface: quarrying yams - perspectives from the edge

When Aboriginal women in the Keep River area of north-western Australia go for yams, they target well-known, named patches, mostly small rocky outcrops vegetated with dry monsoon rainforest. Tubers of the two main yam species, Dioscorea transversa and D. bulbifera, may be over a metre below the ground surface, and several hours may be invested in the pursuit of a single one (Illustration 0.1 a). This work also involves movement of large quantities of rock and soil, leaving holes over a cubic metre in size. The holes are a clear sign of human activity; recently worked ones lack sedimentary or leaf litter infilling. Older holes, partly filled in with slope wash (Illustration O.lb), are recognized by contemporary custodian Biddy Simon as places where people have dug in the past: 'you look all them hollow, all them hole, that where people bin sittin down, down old time ... they bin sitting down and coming in from all around' (J. Atchison, in prep.). Atchison has argued that the holes may serve an inverse function to garden mounds. Instead of hilling up the soil profile above the ground surface, the holes create a deeper stone-free soil structure for replanted yams to grow in. At one site, Milyoonga, the foot of the rocky yam slope is a stone quarry. Over an unknown time period people have visited the site to select source materials for stone artefacts. Cores from which flakes have been removed, as well as some of the flakes themselves, remain. Soil samples from the yam holes contain both flakes, and stone pieces shattered by digging. While this evidence of human activity is not as dramatic as the rock art in the surrounding hills, and would not be recognized by as many people, it is a landscape transformed by people. For many years researchers have debated whether surviving rainforest patches in northern Australia are relicts of past, more mesic climates, and whether Aboriginal burning over millennia has contributed to their patchiness. The dry rainforest areas providing yam habitat in the Keep River are patchy in distribution because so is the present location of rocky outcrop in the surrounding sandy and estuarine plains. At times of lower sea level (prior to 6000 years ago) or less extreme dry seasons (8000-4000 years ago) the configuration may have been quite different. Within the dry rainforest vegetation, there are two floristic elements which probably responded differently; the opportunists 'with a capacity to exploit new ecological opportunities', and the refugia taxa whose existence is more precarious (Russell-Smith and Dunlop, 1987: 230). Over many thousands of years Aboriginal yam gardens may have differentially affected the opportunities available to these two elements. In the Keep River region, use of yam patches is part of a broad pattern of regular visitation to and connection between sites, showing a network of linkages across the landscape. There have been both continuities and changes in these linkages over the past hundred years of incursion by Euro-Australian pastoralism. The distribution of certain stone artefacts away from geologically

XX

PREFACE

Image Not Available

ILLUSTRATON O.I (a) Biddy Simon digs for yams in the Keep River area, Northern Territory, Australia, (b) Yam-digging holes in dry rainforest in the Keep River area, Northern Territory, Australia (by permission of Jennifer Atchison)

identifiable sources can tell us about the operation of exchange networks in the past, some of which continue. Miriuwung and Gajerrong owners define their ownership rights over this land in terms of their relationships to one another, to now deceased kin and to ancestral Dreaming figures. These rights are expressed in stories which link yam hills, porcupine places, stone quarries and ochre sources across the landscape. The retelling of the stories in suitably edited form to visitors affirms the authority of the teller to speak for country. Following the dislocations of European pastoralism in the past century, custodianship rights and responsibilities have also been given to Murinpatha people from further east. Favoured sites for fishing, turtle and goanna collecting are visited on a regular basis, integrated now with trips to town for market goods. High-quality ochre is collected from particular quarries, as it has been for millennia, and is now used in paintings for sale to tourists. The different readings of the Keep River and surrounding landscape and its past come into collision in discussions of the area's social and environmental future; this is a contested landscape. The governments of Western Australia and the Northern Territory want to expand irrigated agriculture from the neighbouring Ord basin onto the black soil plains of the Keep River (Illustration 0.2). The sandstone outcrops - yam, ochre, stone and rock art places - would protrude above plains of sugar and cotton. Miriuwung-Gajerrong people have successfully claimed native title to a large area of unalienated Crown land in the region, making them key stakeholders in decisions

PREFACE

xxi

ILLUSTRATION 0.2 Irrigated area near Cave Spring Range, north of Kununurra, Western Australia. This is near the northernmost extent of the current Ord Stage I scheme, due for expansion in the next few years

about environmental futures. The decision is currently under appeal. Meanwhile, tourists flying into Kununurra airport are welcomed to 'Australia's last frontier', a conceptualization that jars with both occupied Aboriginal space and intensive agriculture. Culture and nature, symbolism and materiality, past and present are clearly intertwined in this example, as they are at different scales in all environmental issues. In starting with an example that most readers would find exotic and faraway, I risk diverting attention from more everyday, ordinary cultural landscapes. (Although to the Miriuwung-Gajerrong, of course, it is the cities and suburbs of eastern Australia or the North Atlantic that are faraway, foreign and wild.) In the coastal suburb in which I live, the line between culture and nature is also blurred in subtle and interesting ways. It is often noted that most white Australians cling to the edges of the continent. It is the environment in which we consider ourselves to feel most at home. Swimming out behind the breakers, I can imagine myself in a totally natural landscape. The offshore wind drives up spray from the cresting waves and blurs the beach. From here, the deep green wave backs curve into the greyer forest greens of the escarpment behind, absorbing the houses and hiding the sand and foam of the edge. My illusion is obviously false, and can be maintained only by squinting. Apart from anything else, I know that the creeks draining the escarpment bring motor oil, dog faeces and plastic bags to the sea. In the early decades of the twentieth century, people cut swimming pools into the rocky headlands along this coast (cover illustration). When the tide is just so, a swimmer can imagine herself on the edge of the horizon. On the strandline after a storm, the plastics can take on the weathered, at-home look of driftwood. Is that a piece of broken surfboard, or a cuttlefish? the perished corner of a rubber flipper, or a desiccated sponge? The betweenness of the coast, its constant movement and the multiple layers of its edges, provide useful images for the thinking in this book. In our daily lives the interpenetration and mutual constitution of people and their environment is a lived experience. Why do we continue to feel the need to separate them analytically? The coast is also, of course, an important locus of environmental change. Swimming behind the breakers, I can have another false illusion, that I am on the ocean. Though deep in human terms, the waters beneath me are geologically speaking not oceanic at all; the edge of the continental shelf is somewhere out near the horizon. Ten thousand years ago and beyond, people crossed a more extensive coastal plain, above which I now float, to a more distant ocean. In the event of a future sea level rise or increased storminess, the expensive real estate on the headlands will fall into the sea. A tsunami triggered by volcanic activity or a submarine landslide out in the Pacific would have a more sudden and dramatic impact. Likely future changes will be the product of

xxii

PREFACE

both human activity and processes over which we have no control. And on the other side of the continent, where the shelf is broad rather than narrow, landscape changes associated with sealevel rise and fall are even more dramatic (Illustration 0.3).

ILLUSTRATION 0.3 Coastal and estuarine landscapes from five rivers lookout, near Wyndham, Western Australia. At times of lowest sea level, such as at the height of the last ice age 18,000 years ago, the coastline would have been hundreds of kilometres away to the north-west

There are many edges in this book. The lines between culture and nature, science and the humanities, people and their environment, north and south, are as problematic and shifting as the continental edge from which I write. Our challenge is not to ink in the lines but to use the tensions creatively in order to see more clearly where we stand in space and time.

Acknowledgements

As will be apparent from the references, many Luciana O'Flaherty and Wendy Rooke of people have stretched my reading and thinking Arnold for their encouragement and efficiency. on the issues discussed in this book. For stimu- My greatest debt is to Richard, Hugh and lating discussion of specific matters, access to Hannah Fullagar, who keep me grounded in unpublished material, comments and advice the present. The author and publishers would like to (not always taken) on this and related manuscripts, and/or timely encouragement, I thank the following for permission to use copyparticularly thank Michael Adams, Jenny right material in this book: Atchison, Dave Bowman, Tony Brown, Richard Fullagar, Peter Gell, Simon Haberle, Peter Text Kershaw, Ruth Lane, Matt McGlone, Les Rowntree, Biddy Simon, Paul Tacon, David Taylor, Robin Torrence, David Trigger and World Heritage Centre, UNESCO, Paris, for extracts from the World Heritage Convention Gordon Waitt. At the University of Wollongong, important and the List of World Heritage Sites; research support over a number of years Cambridge University Press for table 1.3 from has been provided by the Quaternary B.L. Turner et al. (eds) (1990) The Earth as transEnvironments Research Centre, and particu- formed by human action; Taylor & Francis Ltd, larly by colleagues Ted Bryant, Allan Chivas, PO Box 25, Abingdon, Oxfordshire OX14 3UE, Colin Murray-Wallace, Gerald Nanson, David UK, for table 2 from M. Jones and K. Daugstad Price and Colin Woodroffe. A grant from the (1997) Usages of the 'cultural landscape' university's Environment Research Institute concept in Norwegian and Nordic landscape enabled Ruth Lane to assist with library administration. Landscape Research 22(3): research on this project. In this regard I thank 267-81. also the university's inter-library loans staff. The Faculty of Science and the university Figures provided the period of study leave which made the writing of the book possible. The Australian Research Council and the The University of Wisconsin Press for figure Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres 8.1, figure 8.2 and map 7.1 from K.S. Zimmerer Strait Islander Studies have been important and K.R. Young (1999)(eds) Nature's geography; sources of funding support. For logistic Kluwer Academic Publishers for Table from J. support and inspiration of various kinds I Decher (1997) Conservation, small mammals, thank Wendy Beck, Clare Boyd-Macrae, Sue and the future of sacred groves in West Africa. Bromham, Judith Field, Carol Head, Robert Biodiversity and Conservation 6: 1007-26; Irving, Jo McDonald, Penny Podimatopoulos, Blackwell Science Inc. for figure 2 from Sue Pritchard and Margaret Sheil. I thank RJ.Hobbs and D.A. Norton (1996) Towards a

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PREFACE

conceptual framework for restoration ecology. Restoration Ecology 4: 93-110, and figure 2 from J. Aronson and E. Le Floc'h (1996) Hierarchies and landscape history: dialoguing with Hobbs and Norton. Restoration Ecology 4: 327-33; David Taylor for 'Summary of variations in sediments and signals of human activity from five locations in western Uganda'; Cambridge University Press for figure 2.2 from J. Fairhead and M. Leach (1996) Misreading the African landscape; University of Minnesota Press for figure 11.7 from H.E. Wright, Jr (ed.) (1983) LateQuaternary environments of the United States, volume 2, The Holocene; Peter Kershaw for 'Charcoal peaks in long continuous records from the Australian region in relation to the marine oxygen isotope (SPECMAP) record' and 'Relative importance of burning in time slices from the Holocene'; Elsevier Science for a figure from S.G. Haberle, G.S. Hope and W.A. Van der Kaars (in press) Biomass burning in Indonesia and Papua New Guinea. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology, and figure 3 from A. Ghaffar and G. Robinson (1997) Restoring the agricultural landscape: the impact of government policies in East Lothian, Scotland. Geoforum 28: 205-17; the American Association for the Advancement of Science for figures 1 and 2 from P.M. Vitousek, H.A. Mooney, J. Lubchenco and J.M. Melillo (1997) Human domination of Earth's ecosystems. Science 277: 494-9; John Barrett for 'Four views of Silbury Hill' from Fragments from antiquity: an archaeology of social life in Britain, 2900-1200 BC; Blackwell for figure 8.2 from N. Roberts (1989) The Holocene: an environmental history; Australian Archaeology for two figures from S. Haberle (1998) Dating the evidence for agricultural change in the highlands of New Guinea: the last 2000 years; Springer-Verlag for figure 2 from M. Sykes (1997) in B. Huntley, W. Cramer, A.V. Morgan, H.C. Prentice and J.R.M. Allen (eds) Past and future rapid environmental changes: the spatial and evolutionary responses of terrestrial biota; Michael Leunig/TTie Age for 'Past and future'; Matt McGlone for 'Past and future vegetation cover of New Zealand'; Taylor & Francis Books Ltd for 'Spatial and temporal scales of environmental change' and 'July temperatures 18,000 years ago, 9,000 years ago

and present', both from R.J. Huggett (1997) Environmental change: the evolving ecosphere, Routledge, figs 1.2, 4.4, 'The prehistoric archaeological landscape at Loughcrew, Ireland', from G. Cooney (1999) Social landscapes in Irish prehistory, in P. Ucko and R. Layton (eds) The archaeology and anthropology of landscape, Routledge, p. 53, 'Cultural landscape in material form, gendered and divided according to its prestige or everyday purpose', 'Vuollerin 6000 ar: not-so-hidden messages about ethnicity' and 'Lule River, upper valley in northern Sweden, showing the boundaries of various national parks which constitute Laponia World Heritage Area', all from I.M.Mulk and T. Bayliss-Smith (1999) The representation of Sami cultural identity in the cultural landscapes of northern Sweden, in Ucko and Layton, figs 24.2, 24.3, 24.6 and 24.1, 'Schematic map of anthropogenic vegetation changes in West Africa during the twentieth century', from J. Fairhead and M. Leach (1998) Reframing Deforestation: global analyses and local realities, map 1.1.

Illustrations Jennifer Atchison for 'Yam digging holes in dry rainforest, Keep River area, Northern Territory, Australia'; Atholl Anderson for 'Excavation in progress, moa-hunting site, Shag River mouth, New Zealand' and 'Excavated moa butchery area, Hawksburn site, Central Otago, New Zealand'; Gordon Waitt for 'Pagoda, Namsan Mountains park, near Kyongju, South Korea', 'Agricultural landscape with hedgerows, West Lothian, Scotland', 'Ploughed land to edge of hedgerow, East Lothian, Scotland', 'Juxtaposition of old and new, Seoul, South Korea' and 'Buddha relief on stone, Namsan Mountains Park, near Kyongju, South Korea'; Richard Fullagar for 'Tourists watch the sunset at Uluru' and 'Cupules at the Jinmium rockshelter site'; Gerald Nanson for 'River rehabilitation: pin groynes designed to accumulate sediment on the bar beneath the opposite bank and prevent erosion of the bank, Taylors Arm, Nambucca catchment, Australia'; Mary-Jane Mountain for 'Remains of circular

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS OF COPYRIGHT MATERIAL XXV

stone monument, Komakino, near Aamori, Japan', 'Sannai Murayama site, Aamori, Japan' and 'Visitors look at excavated ground surface, Sannai Maruyama site, Aamori, Japan'; Matt

McGlone for 'Bracken, tussock grassland and forest remnants, Port Hills, Canterbury, South Island, New Zealand'.

OVERVIEW

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Contingent constructions: cultural landscapes and environmental change

1.0 Chapter summary As human influence on the Earth and its processes increases, we face the profound paradox that most of our intellectual weapons in the environmental area have maintained a separation of humans and nature. Can we rethink people into nature in such a way that we can better manage the Earth? Clear distinctions between cultural and natural landscapes have been challenged by recent work in both the sciences and the humanities. There are grounds for optimism in the convergence of independent lines of evidence about human interactions with environment. This convergence will be summarized in the umbrella concepts of contingency and construction. Challenges to apparently self-evident truths such as pristine nature have alarmed some environmental scientists, who are worried about relativism and the loss of a basis for action. However, the challenge needs to be engaged with, and in fact provides some creative new directions. Much of our thinking on these issues is constrained by a number of dualisms within Western thinking. It is possible and necessary first to reorient those dualisms, for example by bringing together thinking in palaeoecology and cultural geography. Second, it is important to draw on the knowledge traditions of indigenous and other non-Western peoples to show other possible ways of

thinking about human-nature interactions. This is not to imply, however, that using knowledge of the past as a resource in contemporary environmental management is a simplistic process of either 'going backwards' or 'learning lessons'. Rather, we need to critically analyse not only the way we produce knowledge about the past, but also how that knowledge is used in today's debates. I outline the theoretical underpinnings and operational guidelines which will emerge in the discussions in the book.

I. I Disappearing nature and the lessons of the past Physical geographers and others are having trouble with culture - it is spreading in both space and time. Cultural landscapes are usually defined within the environmental sciences with reference to an antithesis, namely natural landscapes. At least implicit in this understanding are ideas about human transformations of the Earth and of landscapes containing relics of past human activity. Most physical geographers writing about cultural landscapes begin from the perspective of the physical environment itself; thus a cultural landscape is seen as one materially modified by people, a natural one is not. However, this distinction between cultural and natural land-

4

CONTINGENT CONSTRUCTIONS

scapes has been rendered problematic by recent work. Just as earlier views of natural landscapes required revision when the profound effects of agricultural activity became apparent (Faegri, 1988), so researchers now routinely consider - and debate with great spirit - the impacts of hunter-gatherers on biotic and physical landscapes (Dodson, 1992). Hunter-gatherer impacts are now understood as being both earlier and subtler than traditionally thought. The pristine baseline - the 'natural landscape' - is a mirage, receding as it is approached. Even if found, in most parts of the world it is of limited value as a state against which later impacts can be assessed, as it existed under different boundary conditions, particularly of climate. Human geographers and others are also having trouble with culture - it is a complex, multidimensional idea that has both material and symbolic expression. Cultural geographers, for example, recognize landscapes as 'transformations of social and political ideologies into physical form' (Duncan and Duncan, 1988: 25). In a somewhat parallel trend, but on a different timescale, archaeologists are using the term 'social landscape' to understand long-term change. In this understanding, 'the use of different parts of the landscape is seen to be structured by the needs of the social system' (Gosden, 1989:47). While archaeologists by definition work with material evidence, not all dimensions of landscape have material expression. Other writers have used the notion of landscape as text, 'a medium to be read for the ideas, practices and contexts constituting the culture which created it' (Ley, 1985: 419). The metaphor of text may be problematic for thinking about the conceptual landscapes of peoples without writing. The important point here is that landscapes are 'read' very differently by different individuals and communities. In turn, this throws into question the ways in which we as researchers analyse and portray other cultures, particularly as many of the 'others' discussed in this book are separated from us by time as well as space. This thread questions the very distinction between the material and the symbolic, seeing 'all artefacts ... as texts or representations' (Daniels, 1989:198).

Trouble with culture means trouble with nature. An important body of literature is that on the cultures of nature, which has provided critical re-examination of the diverse ways in which social groups conceptualize nature. In this literature nature is not so much a mirage as a category constructed within specific social contexts. As those contexts differ, so do nature and the natural. These two mostly separate debates are both challenging and, sometimes, alarming for scientists working on contemporary environmental management issues. Surely the only disappearing nature that we have time to talk about is that shrinking under the accelerating onslaught of deforestation, land degradation, increasing urbanization and population growth? Satellites that facilitate the instantaneous communication upon which the globalized economy depends are harnessed to track and predict the path of its voracious appetite. We remotely sense problems we cannot even see, such as ozone holes and carbon dioxide concentrations. Despite the apparent urgency, we sense that the past has something to tell us. We look back, finding evidence of climate change, fire, sealevel rise and fall, forest change and movement, plant and animal extinctions. Our looking back is increasingly dependent on that same high technology; we can measure the minuscule and incorporate it into modelling. Thus we build up scientific stories of long-term environmental change, but how precisely are they to help us in our present and future decisions? Is the past there to provide a wake-up call by showing the trajectory of human impacts on the Earth? It is an epic story, but will it be one of redemption or damnation? How is the past to save us, when we are all too conscious that we cannot go back to spears and loincloths? There are two great cliches in the literature which seeks to harness creatively the long-term record to solve contemporary environmental problems: that research needs to be interdisciplinary; and that we can manage the future only if we understand the past. But how will it help? We cannot go backwards; we cannot just 'learn the lessons' of the past and easily effect

DISCIPLINES AND DUALISMS 5

Most attempts at environmental interdisciplinarity focus at a zone we tend to think of as the human-physical interface of a continuum. For example, within geography we tend to conceptualize the subfields of the discipline in terms of a continuum between the most physical and the most human (Figure l.la). (I do not wish to suggest that this subject matter is only the preserve of geography-far from it. However, the dilemmas within the disciplinary tradition of geography illustrate these broader issues well.) A number of other 1.2 Disciplines and dualisms features of this debate are also conceptualized along a continuum. For example, the posiPerhaps, then, everything is cultural and tivist/empiricist tradition of transformed nothing is natural? For environmental cultural landscapes lies at one end, and the management and conservation developed social constructivist tradition of landscape as within a Western scientific tradition this is a representation at the other (Figure l.lb). The problematic assertion. In a practical sense, the temporal dimension is often thought of in the demise of nature encapsulates for us all our same way, with deep time being dominated by contemporary environmental problems. At a nature, and human agency gradually deeper level, however, the assertion challenges increasing until the present (Figure l.lc). In the dualisms deeply embedded in Western some ways this is also a continuum between thinking - culture/nature, mind/body - and the 'sciences' on the left and the 'humanities' the intellectual tools with which we think on the right, although that summary about them - humanities/sciences. Within the submerges to too great an extent the historicaldiscipline of geography, the dualism is descriptive tradition of much environmental expressed in the division between human and change research. There is also a tendency for physical. transformation of our own social context. As well as critically examining the long-term record, we need to critically examine how it can be usefully applied. This book is an attempt to outline the ground on which we can do just that. Before I summarize the theoretical underpinnings and operational guidelines of such an outline, it is helpful to clarify the disciplinary perspective in which I am operating.

(a) Geography

Environmental impacts study

Palaeoecology

Cultural geography Population geography

Biogeography

(b) Cultural landscapes

Transformed landscapes

Social networks

Text/ representation

Accelerating enculturation and damage

Human domination

(c) Long-term human impacts Agency of nature Deep past

Present

FIGURE I.I The continuum conceptualization

6

CONTINGENT CONSTRUCTIONS

the most arcane subfields to be found at either lematic definitions of and boundaries between end of the continuum, and the most applied to humans and nature. Further, calls for interdisbe in the middle. This is an oversimplification ciplinary approaches then tend to be framed in of our disciplinary relationships and the terms that would lie in the centre; for example, complexity of analysis within any individual the economics of the coal industry, or remote field, but we have usually been prepared to be sensing of land clearance. represented in this two-dimensional space. For For the central subject matter of this book, I example, in the School of Geosciences where I don't think this works well enough. I believe work, we represent our subject offerings to we have underestimated the creative interstudents along a continuum from geology at change that can occur if we bend the whole one end, physical geography in the middle and thing over backwards. The recursive model human geography at the other end. The so- (Figure 1.2a) thus brings together the 'opposite' called 'interface' subjects are situated, ends of the continuum. This approach also according to this dualistic logic, between the brings together what many would consider the most arcane part of physical geography, the most human and the most physical. There are a number of potential problems study of past environments, and the most with these continua. The linear dualism of arcane part of cultural geography, the question framing tends to reproduce dualistic construction of meaning about nature. They explanations and interpretations; for example, each need to be centre stage in this analysis. a focus on either the material or the symbolic Recursiveness also brings together physical dimensions of landscape, rather than a consid- transformation and representation (Figure eration of, say, the material expression of 1.2b), past and present, and human and natural symbolism. It also tends to reinforce unprob- agency (Figure 1.2c). (a) Geography

Palaeoecology

This

Cultural

(b) Cultural landscapes

Transformation |

Text/ representation

(c) Long-term human impacts

Agency of I nature i

FIGURE 1.2 The recursive conceptualization

Human | agency

CONTINGENT CONSTRUCTIONS 7

Now recursiveness on its own does not undo the dualism, it just recentres it somewhere else. To some extent this is simply an acknowledgement that the apparatus of Western thinking that we bring to bear is very deeply embedded. However, if we can also start to think multidimensionally, we can consider how any two ends or extremes pervade and interpenetrate each other. Most important here is to recognize the process of knowledge construction; the process of research and thinking (not to mention application to realworld environmental problems!) becomes part of the object of inquiry. Thus, for example, we can turn to textual readings of the story of human transformation of the Earth, looking critically at the ways in which we construct those stories (Figure 1.2b). We can acknowledge that nature has agency even in those contexts of apparent human domination, and that from the beginnings of human presence on the Earth people were constructing an understanding of the landscape and the human place in it (Figure 1.2c). In being limited still by disciplinary structures I want to celebrate the achievements of the different traditions, being able to acknowledge their strengths and limitations. 'A geography that responds both to representations of the natural world and to biophysical process offers a richer toolbox for understanding the world' (Robbins, 1998: 83).

1.3 Contingent constructions While distinctive contributions come from the different disciplinary traditions, there are important convergences in this subject matter between empirical and constructivist approaches. These centre around the ideas of contingency and construction. Contingency, or the historical particularity of sets of circumstances, dominates recent thinking in palaeoecology, ecology and the historical humanities. It contrasts with deterministic approaches that interpret historical events, whether past or future, as the necessary outcome of certain processes. Application of appropriate analytical scales is important here. 'Big-picture' overviews often (unintentionally)

reinforce the idea that certain historical outcomes - the development of agriculture, the destruction of indigenous societies, land degradation - were inevitable. Not only does this reify categories, for example 'hunter-gatherer', which we should critically examine, it implies that the future is a foregone conclusion. In contrast, examining the details of how variable forces, processes and circumstances converged at different times and places in the past provides a more nuanced understanding, whether of forest composition or of European colonization of the Pacific. It also provides a more dynamic context in which to shape the future. The idea of construction is one that has force in both the symbolic and material arenas. It provides for human agency in the biophysical and intellectual worlds. Although it has nuances of structures or buildings, it is used in the literature in much wider senses to discuss the ways in which people shape their landscape. It thus encompasses imaginative and symbolic domains as well. It also reminds us that the construction of knowledge, in this case about the past, is itself a process that needs explicit attention. Under the umbrella of these two ideas, I draw out 11 theoretical underpinnings and seven operational guidelines which emerge from my interpretation of the most recent research on cultural landscapes and environmental change. They are used here to summarize the framework in which the book proceeds. 1.3.1 Theoretical underpinnings 1. The story of environmental change as derived from the scientific method is in the first instance a representation of events and processes that have happened, are happening or will happen. It is important to understand the processes by which science constructs its stories. However, contrary to some perspectives in the humanities, this does not mean that it is only a representation. 2. Biophysical processes have agency independent of humans, and humans are embedded in biophysical processes.

CONTINGENT CONSTRUCTIONS

3. The definitions and boundaries of key cate- 10. Defined categories of human activity - for gories in this analysis - human, nature, example, hunter-gatherer, agriculturalist, culture, landscape, environment, change subsistence farmer - serve us only to a are socially constructed. There have been limited and generalized extent in undercontinuities and changes in those construcstanding different types of interaction with tions over the full span of human history, the Earth. Deconstructive approaches and and between different human groups. local-scale palaeoecological and ethno4. In many contexts, then, it makes little graphic research point in the same sense, on either empirical or epistemodirection here. There is considerable varilogical grounds, to talk of separating human ability within categories, and and natural influences. They are mutually unacknowledged shared traits between constitutive on both grounds. categories. We thus need to be vigilant 5. Change is a much more normal state of about whether categorizations/labels/ affairs in the environment than stability, taxonomies are constraining our thinking though both need to be considered at in unconstructive ways. appropriate scales. This is now well 11. For the same reasons, deterministic trajecestablished on the basis of palaeoecotories of change have little to recommend logical and ecological evidence, as well as them. Contingency provides a better critiques of environmental stasis and historical principle, one increasingly used equilibrium. in both the ecological and cultural liter6. On the same basis, to understand humans ature: '"Contingency" is the label we will as part of a biophysical system is to chaluse that highlights the historical and local lenge the characterization of all human specificity that has to be accounted for in 'impacts' as implicitly damaging. It is not complete understanding and effective much help; we need to be more explicit manipulation of ecological systems' about what is damaging and to what. (Parker and Pickett, 1997:18). 7. To emphasize the importance of mental constructions of landscape and nature is not to argue for a correlation between 1.3.2 Operational guidelines ethics and impacts. Communities with reverential attitudes to nature can have 1. For the purpose of this exercise, all landscapes are cultural, and all are understood impacts that are at least as destructive as as having multiple dimensions, including any other community (Tuan, 1968). both material and symbolic. 8. There are tensions and ambiguities here, 2. Appropriate scales of analysis, in both and they can be creative: 'there are space and time, are crucial. important understandings to be gained in seeking the social origins of instabilities 3. The way in which we can use the long-term record of environmental change to assist and incoherences in our thoughts and pracwith contemporary management issues is tices - understandings that we cannot not at all self-evident. We cannot go backarrive at if we repress recognition of instawards; we cannot just 'learn the lessons' of bilities and tensions in our thought' the past and easily effect transformation of (Harding, 1986: 243-4). our own social context. 9. Diversity brings better science (and archae4. Critical scrutiny should not be 'an abstract ology, geography and anthropology): 'The exercise in conceptual critique but should understanding afforded by divergent depend on a detailed (empirical) understandpoints ... is a crucial source of critical standing of the conditions of knowledge insight about what a dominant research production' (Wylie, 1995: 271). This is community may be missing in its investidiscussed in the context of Haraway's gation of a given subject matter, historical 'situated knowledge'. or otherwise' (Wylie, 1995: 271).

WRITING AND READINGTHIS BOOK

5. We need to be vigilant about the ways explanations are built on biased bodies of evidence. For example, how does the dominance of the pollen record condition our thinking about past human interactions? 6. The empirical evidence can be as important as theory in deconstructing categorizations that have been taken for granted: for example, 'colonization', 'pristine baselines' and 'the Neolithic'. 7. While human activity is implicated in all Earth's systems, the limitations to our control are considerable. 1.4 Writing and reading this book The research process, whether in a chemistry laboratory or an art gallery, is always a complex one involving interpretation, filtering and translation of knowledge and understanding. We tend to be more attuned to this process, and conscious of the partiality of our knowledge and voice, in a cross-cultural situation, such as when I as a white Australian write about Aboriginal lives. However, critical attention to the conditions of knowledge production is even more important in research contexts we are likely to take for granted, or regard as normal. In the context of this book, such contexts particularly include the production of knowledge about past and future environmental change. It is no accident that many of the examples in the book come from former colonial corners such as Australasia and Africa. This work, both empirical and theoretical, is showing how the very structure of our knowledge and understanding about long-term human interactions with the environment is a product of particular historical circumstances arising out of the European colonial project. In biogeography, Stott (1998) summarizes this as the hegemony of forest ecology, the hegemony of equilibrium notions, and the hegemony of Europe and North America over the rest. Within archaeology, there are different traditions of inquiry on either side of the Atlantic. How might we think differently about people, nature, environmental change and the

9

past if we explicitly engage with the processes and legacy of colonialism, and if we give voice to indigenous and local understandings? The dominant message in this regard is one of humans within nature, as a force both creative and destructive, symbolically present and physically engaged, as expressed in underpinnings 3,4, 6 and 10 (above). This book is not an historical overview of human impacts on the Earth, or of cultural attitudes to the environment, although it provides signposts to important works in both those areas. There are big gaps in my coverage of topics, places and authors. It is not a comprehensive review of debates about 'culture' or 'landscape', although it does summarize the most relevant parts of these debates for issues of environmental change. The issue is not to define cultural landscapes, but to consider the multiple ways in which the concept has been used. The culture of writing about environmental change is just one of the cultures that demands critical analysis. Nor is this a set of cautionary tales or heroic myths from the past about what we should do in the future, although I do identify useful principles and processes. Rather, it is an attempt to cut a particular path through a complex set of literature and build an argument about the conditions under which long-term environmental change is relevant to contemporary environmental issues. To this end, Part II will analyse the contribution of methodological and conceptual tools from the sciences. In Chapter 2 the focus will be on palaeoecology, and its particular contribution to our understanding of long-term human transformations of the landscape. With historical links to the work of George Perkins Marsh and Carl Sauer, cultural landscapes are understood in this literature as ones physically transformed by human action. However, the application of new techniques and expansion of palaeoecological work in Australasia, Africa and Asia is changing thinking on a number of themes. These include the influence of huntergatherers and the nature of change in forest ecosystems. Chapter 3 will consider how environmental change is understood within ecology and palaeoecology, focusing on the influence of so-called non-equilibrium ecology and its chal-

10

CONTINGENT CONSTRUCTIONS

lenge to linear models of deterministic environment interactions is particularly succession or circular ones of balance and stasis. relevant. These issues are hard to isolate; many The following two chapters (Part III) of the examples used would be applicable in constitute a section on the contributions of the several chapters. Chapter 6 will consider humanities. In Chapter 4 the literature which protected landscapes, including those deals with the social construction of nature and explicitly defined by managers as 'cultural landscape will be reviewed. Multiple and landscapes'. Examples of protection at internashifting meanings of culture, nature and land- tional, national and local scales are used, with a scape, as seen particularly in the past three focus on World Heritage cultural landscapes. decades, will be considered. The notion of In Chapter 7 we shall consider the concepts of landscape within prehistoric archaeology will preservation, restoration and creation in terms be discussed in most detail since it shows not of both biotic and built landscapes. only the changes within academic thinking, but Management dilemmas here are implicitly also the long-term perspective of human temporal ones. Are we trying to return to the perceptions of landscape. In Chapter 5 we shall past, freeze the present, or create the future? consider how knowledge about environmental Chapter 8 will attempt to come to grips with change is produced within Western science, the human question; in what contexts do using global climate change and deforestation people have a place in landscapes? Chapter 9 will look at landscapes of identity, heritage and as the major case studies. The second half of the book (Part IV) will tourism, arguing that the process of valuing examine the application of these debates in landscapes is a necessarily cultural process selected contemporary environmental issues about which we should be as explicit as where a long-term perspective on human- possible.

METHODOLOGICAL AND CONCEPTUAL TOOLS FROM THE SCIENCES

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Transformed landscapes: human impacts and the palaeoecological record

2.0 Chapter summary Within palaeoecological research, cultural landscapes are generally understood as those transformed by human action, a conceptualization particularly influenced by the work of Carl Sauer. Global overviews present evidence of accelerating and destructive human impacts over time. While in one sense this is an important and unarguable message, it should not be read in a deterministic way. Further, recent work at a range of scales shows considerable spatial and temporal variability. Three themes - colonization, hunter-gatherer/agricultural impacts and post-industrial changes are reviewed. In each of these, rethinking of substantive and epistemological issues is under way, and constant methodological refinement is occurring. Vigorous debate over the timing and effects of human impacts in the South Pacific and elsewhere contributes to a rethinking of the concept of colonization. Similarly, clear demarcations between huntergatherer and agricultural impacts are difficult to maintain, and there is considerable variability within each of the categories. High resolution of the record of the past few hundred years in some parts of the world is facilitating a shift from inductive to deductive approaches within this field of research. Important issues within the three fields include the re-emergence of environmental agency, the importance of multiple palaeoecological proxies, and the influence on interpretation of spatial bias in concentrations of research.

2.1

Changing the face of the Earth

Interest in long-term human impacts on the landscape - or the Earth as transformed by human action - comes from several research directions. Palaeoecological researchers have for a number of decades recognized the possibility of anthropogenic signals in the records under study, although there has been considerable debate over their interpretation. Workers more interested in contemporary timescales and problems have also sought to place these in historical perspective. There are thus a number of overviews to which readers can be directed for more comprehensive coverage. A brief review of their themes and approaches helps to set the approaches of this book in context. It will also help us start to ask a central question: how does/should understanding of long-term impacts help us deal with contemporary environmental management issues? The term 'cultural landscape' is used in this literature in a variety of ways, but in an overall sense that a cultural landscape is one physically transformed by human action. Temporal overviews thus present a story of increasing human impact over time, accelerating with recent population growth and technological change. Thus, for example, Simmons's (1989) Changing the face of the Earth uses a five-stage model of human history (Primitive man, Advanced hunters, Agriculture, Industrialists, the Nuclear Age) to chart human impacts. To help structure the mass of information, Simmons

14 TRANSFORMED LANDSCAPES

also uses the study of energy flow through ecosystems as the currency by which those impacts are measured. Goudie (1993) recognizes similar stages of cultural development, although he subsumes them within chapters structured by different elements of the biosphere. In overviews which cover the whole of the Quaternary period (Mannion, 1991; Williams et al., 1998), or focus on the Holocene - the past ten thousand years (Roberts, 1989) - the temporal structure provides a framework to understand increasing human impact towards the present, with varying amounts of detail depending on the intended audience. Most such overviews acknowledge that the impacts go in two directions: of environmental change on people, and of people on environment (e.g. Bell and Walker, 1992; Chambers, 1994). Second, there are overviews of our present dilemmas, which usually include some temporal context in their introductory chapters. For example, Meyer (1996) refers to the formula by which human impact can be thought of as population multiplied by affluence (demand on Earth's resources per person) multiplied by technology. He then provides an historical review of increases in each of the three elements. Not all these authors use the term 'cultural landscape', and where they do, the meaning is often implied rather than explained. It is useful, then, to focus on the traditions in which these authors see themselves as working - to whose influence do they defer? The intellectual influences most frequently acknowledged are those of George Perkins Marsh, Clarence Glacken, W.L. Thomas and Carl Sauer. In a review that ends well before contemporary interest, Glacken (1967) showed that the questions were not new. For him, the question of human transformations of the Earth is one of the three most persistent questions that 'men' have asked about their relationship to the habitable Earth since the beginning of Western thought. Thomas's 1956 edited volume Man's role in changing the face of the earth is often seen to signal a turning point in contemporary awareness, at least by the academic community, and its lineage is traced to Marsh's 1864 work Man and nature; or, Physical geography as modified by human action (Marsh, 1965 [1864]). Later works acknowledge these influences in

their titles and forewords, e.g. Simmons (1989); Turner et al, 1990). In the specific context of human impacts writing, the term 'cultural landscape' is most often associated with the work of Carl Sauer. (Although Sauer is generally considered responsible for the transfer of the concept into English, Jones and Daugstad (1997) attribute its first use to the German geographer Friedrich Ratzel (1895-6).) For Sauer, The works of man express themselves in the cultural landscape. There may be a succession of these landscapes with a succession of cultures. They are derived in each case from the natural landscape, man expressing his place in nature as a distinct agent of modification. Of especial significance is that climax of culture which we call civilization. The cultural landscape then is subject to change either by the development of a culture or by a replacement of cultures. The datum line from which change is measured is the natural condition of the landscape. The division of forms into natural and cultural is the necessary basis for determining the real importance and character of man's activity. ... The natural landscape is being subjected to transformation at the hands of man, the last and for us the most important morphologic factor. By his cultures he makes use of the natural forms, in many cases alters them, in some destroys them.... The cultural landscape is fashioned from a natural landscape by a culture group. Culture is the agent, the natural area is the medium, the cultural landscape the result. (Sauer, 1965 [1925]: 333,341,343)) (Figure 2.1)

FACTORS Geognostic

FORMS Climate Land surface soil drainage mineral resource Sea and coast Vegetation

Climatic vegetational

TIME

FACTOR

MEDIUM FORMS Population density mobility Housing plan Natural CULTURAL landscape structure ' LANDSCAPE Production Communication

Culture

TIME -

NATURAL LANDSCAPE

XX

FIGURE 2.1 The natural and cultural landscapes, as conceptualized by Sauer (1925)

CHANGING THE FACE OF THE EARTH 15

The main features of Sauer's 1925 conceptualization are reflected in much of the literature referred to in this chapter: an unproblematic separation of the natural and the cultural; the idea of a pre-human baseline; humans as an agent of transformation; and the influence of varied causes operating over time. The socalled Sauerian view of culture has been subject to critique in the past few years, a debate that is reviewed in more detail in Chapter 4. However, it is important to remember that in the middle decades of the twentieth century Sauer and his colleagues were still having to address and combat ideas of environmental determinism, whereby particular environments were argued to give rise to particular cultures. They have done that so successfully that some writers today argue that we have lost sight of the agency of the environment, and of natural-scale changes (Nunn, 1999). The tools to reconstruct cultural landscapes over remote times and places have changed dramatically in recent decades. Using a great variety of palaeoecological indicators, set in a temporal context with radiometric dating techniques, we can review human impacts over

Box 2.1 Anthropogenic indicators in sedimentary records: some examples Pollen • Particular indicators need to be ecologically appropriate: (a) Old World - pollen of cultivated plants in a variety of combinations, and associated disturbance indicators (Behre, 1981). (b) New Zealand - decline in forest pollen, increase in Pteridium (McGlone, 1983). (c) Southeast Asia - increase in abundance of secondary forest tree taxa, e.g. Trema, Macaranga, Dodonaea, and increase in herbs (Flenley, 1988); problems and potentials in identification of cultivar pollen and using weeds as indicators (Maloney, 1994).

longer timespans and with better spatial resolution (Box 2.1). Just as Sauer's ability to get at these questions was limited by the tools available - radiocarbon dating, for example, was not available until right at the end of his life - it is important to identify the ways in which our current thinking is a function of our tools. The literature is heavily weighted towards human impacts on vegetation, particularly in terms of the earliest evidence. But as examples discussed below show, the pollen record as often studied (or studied for other purposes) can bias thinking about human impacts in particular ways. These include the scale of change, the expectation of deforestation, and overemphasis on introductions of palynologically visible taxa. In such a huge and diverse field of interest, overviews such as those referred to above provide essential perspective for students and researchers in various fields. In one sense a story of increasing and accelerating human impact is an unarguable and important message (Table 2.1). So too is the understanding that these impacts have occurred over a period of great climatic change with asso-

(d) Africa - some forest increases can be anthropogenic (Taylor et al., 1999). (e) New Guinea - high proportions of degraded Nothofagus pollen, grass increases if accompanied by forest decline and swamp grasses excluded, Casuarina increases as part of agro-forestry, Pandanus. Pollen of many known crops, e.g. Ipomoea batatas and Colocasia esculenta, are not visible in the fossil record (Haberle, 1994). Diatoms • Indicate eutrophic conditions at Lake Coba, Mexico, at a time when there is no support from other indicators for a climatic explanation. Diking for a reservoir is argued to be a viable hypothesis (Leyden et al., 1998:119).

16

TRANSFORMED LANDSCAPES

Microscopic charcoal

Phytoliths (plant opal silica bodies)

• A record of fire-rainfall events (Clark, 1983). • Needs particular attention to scale (Clark, 1983).

• Identification of major New World domesticates, e.g. maize, squash, gourd, and many utilized wild plants, e.g. palms and bamboo. But not New World root crops such as manioc, potato and sweet potato (Pearsall, 1994). Future potential considerable since many palynologically invisible taxa produce phytoliths.

Influx of inorganic sediments • As measured by loss-on-ignition (Flenley, 1994). • Magnetic mineral analysis (Haberle, 1994). Charcoal and wood • Human impacts have been identified in highland New Guinea as early as 28,000 BP, on the basis of charcoal in slopewash deposits in the Baliem Valley, Irian Jaya (Haberle et al, 1991). Although the connection to humans is circumstantial, natural fire is extremely rare in these cool, wet montane forests (see also McGlone, 1983).

• • •

• Native ruderals (disturbed ground plants) and introduced weeds (Baker et al., 1993b). Molluscs • Particular species, species associations and diversity as indicators of vegetation interference and clearance on the chalklands (Evans, 1994). • Land snails as transported through Pacific islands by people (Kirch, 1984:136-7).

Soil instability

Insects

• Soil instability can obviously have other causes, but when associated with charcoal is extra evidence (McGlone, 1983).

• Beetles associated with dung, polluted waters and cultivated plants as evidence of European settlement in North America (Baker et al., 1993).

ciated shifts in sea levels, vegetation formations and landscape alteration. Specialist or regional syntheses (e.g. Birks et al., 1988; Bottema et al., 1990), have had greater scope to explore the complexities of different scales of analysis, or different ecological contexts. However, there are a number of shared features of the big picture: •

Plant macrofossils

•

Prehistoric change is most strongly associated with agriculture, in the mid-Holocene.

For example, in one of the most detailed overviews, Roberts (1989) shows explicit links between the shift from hunter-fisher-gatherer to agriculture to urban-industrial systems (Figure 2.2). Cultural landscapes, associated Dualistic views of humans and envi- with modification of the environment, appear with agro-ecosystems, and are the period of the ronment are prevalent. Humans are seen as disturbers of the Holocene when human influences (H) are seen to override environmental ones (E). natural order. There is a risk that historical trajectories will Humans have impacts on, and progressively override, the forces of nature as they be read in a deterministic way that forecloses other possibilities (in both interpretation of the increase their ecological dominance. This results in the gradual enculturation of past and implications for the future), although this is certainly not the intention of the authors environments.

CHANGING THE FACE OF THE EARTH 17

TABLE 2.1 Selected forms of human-induced transformation of environmental components: chronologies of change A

Quartiles of change from 10000 BP to the mid-1980s

Form of transformation

Deforested area Terrestrial vertebrate diversity11 Water withdrawals' Population size Carbon releases'1 Sulphur releases6 Phosphorus releases' Nitrogen releases'1 Lead releases" Carbon tetrachloride production"1 B

Dates of quartiles*

25%

50%

75%

1700 1790 1925 1850 1815 1940 1955 1970 1920 1950

1850 1880 1955 1950 1920 I960 1975 1975 1950 I960

1915 1910 1975 1970 I960 1970 1980 1980 1965 1970

Percentage of change by the times of Marsh and of the Princeton symposium

Form of transformation

Percentage Change I860

Deforested area Terrestrial vertebrate diversity Water withdrawals' Population size Carbon releases'1 Sulphur releases" Phosphorus releases' Nitrogen releases'1 Lead releases'1 Carbon tetrachloride production"1

50 25-50 15 30 30 5
1950 90 75-100 40 50 65 40 20 5 50 25

SourceiTumer et al (1990: Table 1.3) cl Calculations assume a baseline or pristine biosphere about 10000 BP and 100 per cent change as of the mid-1980s. Percentages refer to the total of the later or 100 per cent figure b Number of vertebrate species that have become extinct through human action since 1600. Does not include possible waves of Pleistocene and earlier Holocene human-induced extinctions because of continuing controversy over their nature and magnitude c Total amount of water now withdrawn annually for human use d Total mass mobilized by human activity e Present human contributions to the sulphur budget ' Amount of phosphorus mined as phosphate rock

cited above. The dangers of a teleological approach are recognized by Simmons (1993a: 110). Nevertheless, practising and training environmental scientists are less likely to go from the overviews to the source literature where more detailed discussions of scale, complexity and interacting causal processes are to be found.

Further, most overviews are dominated by northern-hemisphere, particularly north-west European, perspectives. The attempt here to increase the visibility of southern-hemisphere work not only starts to fill the gaps from an empirical point of view, but also shows that the nature and limitations of the evidence itself continue to influence our understanding and

18

TRANSFORMED LANDSCAPES

Time

(a)

• Hunting/fishing Gathering

Agroecosystems

Urbanindustrial

Largely natural environments

Cultural landscape

'Built environment'

Direct dependency on environment

Modification of environment

Major human impact

Image Not Available

• FIGURE 2.2 The changing relationship between humans (H) and the natural environment (E) over the course of the Holocene, including (a) nature of interaction, and (b) relative impact Source: Roberts (1989: 184). By permission of Blackwell Publishers

the terms in which debates are conducted. In a global overview of the earliest palynological evidence of human impact on vegetation, Walker and Singh (1994) show that only in the Australasian/South-East Asian region are impacts suggested to pre-date the Holocene. The exception to this is Hoxne, South-East England, where last-interglacial vegetation disturbance has been attributed to human activity (West and McBurney, 1954; West, 1956). In North America even agricultural impacts have low pollen visibility, showing up in less than 20 of over 300 published pollen diagrams spanning the past 12,000 years (McAndrews, 1988), although site selection and sampling have not always been appropriate for seeing human impacts (Delcourt, 1987). The studies also emphasize the importance of understanding local ecological conditions, particularly in terms of interpreting fire and charcoal records. As a complement to the overviews cited above, three slightly different areas of research are reviewed in this chapter. I hope to convey the excitement, innovation and relevance of recent research. I focus on regional syntheses which bring together data from a number of sites. Additional themes which this work brings include: •

Increased emphasis on potentially early hunter-gatherer impacts. There is much controversy in this field, and few areas of

•

consensus. Disagreements have, however, led to more explicit attempts to delineate criteria of human presence and activity. These methodological debates have fed back into less controversial areas, such as agricultural impacts. At different scales, very clear demarcations between huntergatherer and agricultural impacts disappear, and each category of land use shows considerable internal variability. There has been a recent reappearance in the literature of the agency of the environment, and attempts to discuss this in a non-deterministic way. Each of these points connects with debates over the mutual constitution of society and environment that will be discussed in Chapter 4. 2.2 Landscapes of colonization

In debates over human transformations of the Earth, writers have traditionally distinguished between old lands such as Africa, where humans coevolved with other parts of the biosphere, and newly colonized parts of the world. Human colonization of new lands theoretically provides the laboratory experiment about human transformations of those environments - they provide the 'datum line', in Sauer's terminology. If a recent argument that African hunters were influencing biospheric processes, including climate, as early as 3.5 million years ago (Burchard, 1998) is correct, even this theoretical baseline may disappear, but we will maintain it for the purposes of the present discussion. What sorts of transformations occur when people enter an ecosystem which has not experienced them before? To restate the obvious, people always come from somewhere, bringing with them plants, animals and cultural concepts. Drawing on Anderson (1952), Kirch (1984: 135-9) referred to these as 'transported landscapes'. In different contexts the outcomes include extinctions and introductions of biota, and both deliberate and adventitious impacts on pre-existing vegetation and landforms. Two examples with very different timescales of colonization, Australia

LANDSCAPES OF COLONIZATION 19

and New Zealand, show that this debate is never straightforward. It is important to emphasize that the issues considered in this section are particularly controversial; it is not my intention to try to solve them. Rather, I focus on how the evidence is used, and the links between transformation and colonization. There are thus important parallels between these debates and those in other parts of the world, particularly the Americas. For more than twenty years, archaeological debates about the timing of first human occupation of Greater Australia (present-day Australia and New Guinea) have been intertwined with palaeoecological ones about the mooted impacts of those first settlers on both flora and fauna (Singh et al., 1981; Horton, 1982). When did people arrive, did they change the vegetation through burning it, and did they cause the extinction of the megafauna? An important dimension of the controversy is that the timing of Aboriginal burning as interpreted from the pollen and charcoal record has always been much earlier than the archaeological evidence, even though both have changed over the decades. For example, Aboriginal burning was suggested at Lake George in south-eastern Australia at around 125 ka (Singh et al., 1981) at a time when the archaeological dates were still around 35-10 ka. Current archaeological estimates for the time of human arrival vary from around 40 ka (O'Connell and Allen, 1998; Mulvaney and Kamminga, 1999) to around 60 ka (Roberts et al, 1990, 1994) or beyond (Fullagar et al, 1996; Roberts et al, 1998; Thorne et al, 1999). Archaeological debates centre on the relative efficacies of dating techniques (radiocarbon, thermoluminescence and optically stimulated luminescence), and on taphonomic issues such as post-depositional movement of artefacts within sediments. The latter is relevant because the sediments rather than the contained artefacts are being dated. Even on the shortest scenario, then, the time frame covers a period of significant environmental change. It has thus been recognized for some time that palaeoecological separation of anthropogenic and climatic influences requires records which cover at least the last glacial-interglacial cycle and preferably longer

(Kershaw, 1986). A recent overview of nine such records (Kershaw et al, in press) spans south-eastern Australia to the Indonesian offshore region, and examines charcoal within 'time slices selected to represent major identified past climatic phases' (Figure 2.3). Charcoal peaks are present in drier phases (oxygen isotope stages 2, 4 and 6) and during times of major climate change. In addition there is at least one charcoal peak in all records during the period 30-40 ka, one of the most climatically stable periods of the late Pleistocene. The burning had variable impacts on vegetation. At Lynchs Crater in north Queensland, drier araucarian rainforest began to be replaced by eucalypt woodland, and in the Banda Sea impacts on both Indonesia (reduction of Dipterocarpaceae rainforest) and northern Australia (expanded grasslands relative to eucalypts) are indicated. In the southern areas the vegetation impacts were less pronounced. The authors attribute these peaks to Aboriginal burning - which they infer 'impacted the whole of the Australian landscape, as well as some parts of Indonesia, within a short period of time' (p. 12) - but argue that the effect was to accelerate existing trends within vegetation rather than to transform whole landscapes. Kershaw et al. (in press) now consider that this data set provides some support for the model of late colonization, about 40 ka, since there are no charcoal peaks in the 50-60 ka age range. Charcoal peaks with associated vegetation changes around 135 ka at several sites are no longer attributed to human agency (see Kershaw et al, 1993), and vegetation changes at around 175 ka at two of the northern sites do not have associated charcoal peaks. In these earlier events, 'vegetation change appears to have preceded charcoal peaks' (p. 11), and it is suggested that fire is a result of climatically driven drift towards more open vegetation. Thus while fire activity is interpreted to have increased throughout the period of these records, 'late Quaternary vegetation changes have been less dramatic than originally suggested' (p. 11). This evidence is in accord with geomorphological evidence for increasing aridity over the past few glacial-interglacial cycles.

20 TRANSFORMED LANDSCAPES

Lake Selina —iff Egg Lagoon

00

Q 06 O U PJ OS

Lake Wangoom

ff

< U

i o

I Image Not Available

Time (ka x 103) FIGURE 2.3 Charcoal peaks in long continuous records from the Australian region in relation to the marine oxygen isotope (SPECMAP) record Source: Kershaw et al. (in press). By permission of Peter Kershaw

The question of landscape transformation extends beyond the vegetation to the fauna, and particularly to a suite of larger fauna which became extinct in Greater Australia at a variety of unknown times within the past 100,000 years. The relative influences of climate and people have been debated for more than a century; the most recent advocacy of a climatic explanation comes from Horton (2000), and of overkill by people from Flannery (1990,1994).

2.2.1

New Zealand

New Zealand is an example of the islands of the south and west Pacific that illustrates the transformation of isolated islands by entering peoples, although it is much larger than most and lies within temperate latitudes. As this case study shows, there are parallels with Australia in that debates about human impact are closely entwined with those about timing of colo-

LANDSCAPES OF COLONIZATION 21

nization. The transformation of the islands was influenced by four main processes: introduction of new plants and animals; clearance of native vegetation for agriculture; hunting of native fauna for food; and accelerated erosion of hillsides and consequent lowland deposition (Enright and Gosden, 1992). There are two competing narratives in this literature. The dominant one is that human impacts on islands were sudden and dramatic. This is clear from, for example, Fiji within the past 3000 years (Hope, 1999a), Yap (federated states of Micronesia) about 3300 BP (Dodson and Intoh, 1999), Mangaia (southern Cook Islands) at 1600 BP (Kirch and Ellison, 1994), and Easter Island around 630 BP (Flenley, 1994). It is important to point out that there is an alternative narrative (Nunn, 1994, 1999) which argues that human influences have been overstated relative to others. In the New Zealand context the mooted human impacts include anthropogenic deforestation, extinction of the moas and other birds (Illustrations 2.1a and 2.1b), and decline in seal and fish populations (Anderson and McGlone, 1992). As in Australia, this is discussed in the context of a debate over whether New Zealand has a short (<600 yr), intermediate (c. 1000 yr) or long (>1500 yr) prehistory (Sutton, 1987; Holdaway, 1996; McGlone and Wilmshurst, 1999). And, as in Australia, the question focuses on whether palaeoecological evidence of vegetation and landscape disturbance provides

evidence of human impacts independent of the archaeological record. Whereas in Australia the dating debates of relevance centre on radiocarbon compared with luminescence techniques, in New Zealand the questions are over the contamination and precision of radiocarbon dating (e.g. Newnham et al., 1998a; McGlone and Wilmshurst, 1999). Recent resolution of the date of the stratigraphically critical Kaharoa Tephra at 665 ± 15 BP (c, 600 cal BP - calibrated radiocarbon years before present) (Lowe et al., 1998; Newnham et al., 1998b) clarifies these issues. In an analysis of 11 pollen records containing the tephra, Newnham et al. (1998) argue that inferred human impacts occur around the time of tephra deposition or later, lending support to the late colonization model. Others argue that early Polynesian impacts cannot be ruled out as explanations for early fire and disturbance, such as that around 1800 yr BP on Great Barrier Island (Horrocks et al., 2000). However, this possible early colonization period is also acknowledged to coincide with a period of increasing drought frequency which would have affected vulnerability to fire. Most of the New Zealand flora is not fire adapted, and it is usually assumed that this factor and long successional recovery periods for forest made the vegetation particularly vulnerable to the fires of early colonists (Ogden et al., 1998). Reviewing dates from wood charcoal in South Island soils, and microscopic

Image Not Available ILLUSTRATION 2. la Excavation in progress, moa-hunting site, Shag River mouth, New Zealand (by permission of Atholl Anderson)

22 TRANSFORMED LANDSCAPES

Image Not Available ILLUSTRATION 2.1b Excavated moa butchery area, Hawksburn site, central Otago, New Zealand (by permission of Atholl Anderson)

charcoal from North Island sedimentary cores, Ogden et al. (1998) show that fire has existed throughout the Holocene, with apparent increases in frequency after about 3 ka in the South Island and 7 ka in the North, both well before human arrival. Once again, increased climatic variability, possibly associated with enhanced El Nino - Southern Oscillation (ENSO) activity, is implicated. There is also a problematic peak in soil charcoal about 1000 BP, within the contested period. Ogden et al. distinguish between 'first anthropogenic fires', which will not be distinguishable from the background level of natural burning, and 'significant human impact', which will (Ogden et al, 1998: 694; Illustration 2.2).

Image Not Available

2.2.2 Palaeoecological criteria of human presence and impacts Although none of these debates is resolved, the excitement generated by the research has stimulated the development and application of new techniques and strategies, some examples of which have been mentioned. Some of the technical advances are explored in more detail in other volumes in this series; I discuss here the broader question of how research design constrains and advances thinking. A diverse set of strategies have been proposed to examine the impacts of human activities (see Box 2.2 for a summary of examples). For the most part, these do not constitute testable hypotheses in

ILLUSTRATION 2.2 Bracken, tussock grassland and forest remnants, Port Hills, Canterbury, South Island, New Zealand. This landscape is interpreted by McGlone to be the result of forest clearance by early Maori (by permission of M.S. McGlone)

LANDSCAPES OF COLONIZATION 23

Box 2.2 Strategies and palaeoecological site selection for identification of human impacts: some examples • Small pollen sites - more likely to reflect small-scale human activities (Brown, 1999). • Separation of pollen studies from more explicit climatic proxies, e.g. collapse of Classic Maya civilization (Hodell et al., 1995). • Separate natural and anthropogenic fire frequencies - calculate return interval (Ogden et al, 1998). • Predict conditions of anthropogenic invisibility (even though present) (Barham, 1999; Head, 1996). • Synchroneity of disturbance - varies with ecological conditions and occupation

Box 2.3 Scenarios and hypotheses about human presence and impacts in Central America and northern South America, 14-8 ka BP (from Cooke, 1998)

history. For example, rapidity of change in New Zealand is seen to support human factors (McGlone, 1983); nonsynchroneity is argued by Haberle (1993) for the humid aseasonal tropics. Compatibility between archaeological and palaeoecological evidence - most workers in Australia would argue for this (see Head (1994a) for review). Not seen as necessary in remote island context, even among people with internal disagreements (Kirch and Ellison, 1994; Spriggs and Anderson, 1993). Examine cessation of traditional burning after colonization. Compare adjacent mainland and island sites with different occupation histories (Hope, 1999b). Multi-method - post-European Iowa (Baker et al, 1993b).

made bifacial lanceolate points and carefully trimmed scrapers. • More or less coincident with the YD and El Abra Stadial (10.5 ± 0.6 ka), a widely distributed, culturally affiliated and highly mobile (Palaeoindian') population with a distinctive stone tool kit. A human presence in Central America, Colombia and Venezuela (outside • The use of different forest and open vegetation types throughout the LGS from sea 'Amazonia') before the Late Glacial Stage level up to c. 2500 m (except non-seasonal (LGS)(~14-10 ka) requires substantiation. A lowland rainforest). survey of recent archaeological and palaeoecological evidence allows the specification of • At or soon after the LGS/Holocene boundary, widespread forest-dwelling inferred high-probability scenarios, alternate settlements, whose inhabitants habitually scenarios whose resolution awaits bettercollected forest plant products, some of quality data, and areas of investigation whose which appear to have been under domesencouragement would improve knowledge. tication by 8 ka. High-probability scenarios Alternative scenarios which cannot be • A small and widely dispersed pre- confirmed by current data Younger Dryas (El Abra Stadial, -11-10 • Humans were/were not present during ka) human population. the upper Pleniglacial and did/did not • The pre-Younger Dryas (YD) consumption of extinct herbivores, including horse and use extinct Pleistocene mammals such as mastodons. gomphotheres, by cultural groups who

24 TRANSFORMED LANDSCAPES

• All pre-El Abra Stadial populations were/were not acquainted with bifacial reduction processes. • Pre-Holocene populations did/did not habitually collect wild plant foods. • The extinction of Pleistocene mammals did/did not coincide chronologically with the disappearance of fluted points. • Extant fauna, such as white-tailed deer, were/were not an important LGS hunting resource. • LGS and early Holocene tool kits represent either short-lived, but areally distributed artefact types, or coeval assemblages belonging to different cultural groups

with distinct subsistence orientations. Hunter-gatherers using bifacial projectile points and large blade/flake scrapers did/did not survive after 8 ka coevally with incipient cultivators. Universal forest expansion and/or increased sedentism after climatic amelioration did/did not lead to the development of several economic systems strongly correlated with specific geographic regions and/or vegetation types (i.e. an 'Andean hunting tradition', 'a Central American pre-montane horticultural system').

within the past 2000 years (Burney et al, 1997). Humans have long been the main suspects in an event that was, in geological terms, extremely rapid. Many aspects of the extinction process are still unclear; there is, for example, no definite evidence for direct interaction between humans and extinct species other than tortoises. However, Burney et al.'s research shows that fire was an important environmental variable long before people arrived. Some extinct animals may have persisted for at least a thousand years after human arrival on Madagascar, probably owing to the remoteness from human activity of the north-west coast. None of these examples denies the profound impacts of colonizing peoples. However, if the propensity for ecosystemic destruction is seen as part of an essential human nature, then the past • Colonization as discovery - early is of little use because the outcomes are exploratory or accidental landings, inevitable. Alternatively, if impacts are possibly of a single canoe, from which rats contingent on the conjunction of particular escaped. This did not result in prolonged circumstances, the story of the past can be useful or widespread human occupation, but for contemporary management. In this case clarresulted in impacts on small ground- ification of the rates and precise mechanisms of dwelling birds on which the rats preyed. change becomes an important contribution. • Systematic colonization - later near-simultaneous archaeologically visible occupation associated with rapid, wide2.3 Hunter-gatherer/agricultural spread deforestation and moa extinctions. landscapes Detailed multi-method research on cave deposits in north-west Madagascar is clari- Hunter-gatherers have long been distinfying the mechanisms of faunal extinction there guished from agriculturalists partly on the the sense discussed in Section 2.4 (p. 30). They depend heavily on issues of temporal and spatial correlation between, for example, palaeoecological and cultural indicators. However, increased methodological resolution is facilitating more explicit approaches (see Box 2.3 for an example). The specific nature of landscape transformation feeds back into a rethinking of the concept of colonization. It is not just a question of whether people were there or not, but what they were doing and in what ecological contexts. It is interesting that much of this evidence is coming from islands, often considered the archetypal laboratories of instantaneous destructive impact. In the New Zealand context we can, then, distinguish between:

HUNTER-GATHERER/AGRICULTURAL LANDSCAPES 25

basis of attributes they lack, attributes that relate to interactions with landscape. Thus, it is argued, hunter-gatherers do not plant or tend gardens, they do not substantially modify their environment, nor do they purposefully manage it. In nineteenth-century parlance, they lack purchase on the land. Similarly, in some circles agriculturalists are defined by the changes they make to the genetic make-up of plants or animals. These arguments have come under assault from anthropological, archaeological and palaeoecological research in recent decades, to such an extent that clear delineation between 'hunter-gatherers' and 'agriculturalists' is rejected by some. It is beyond the scope of this book to review these debates, some of which are discussed in Chapter 4, but one important point emerges. Clear assessment of hunter-gatherer and agricultural impacts requires us to suspend judgement about the pre-existence of those categories. If they cannot be distinguished on landscape grounds, then this hitherto fundamental human taxonomy is further challenged. This is not to deny the profound differences between some hunter-gatherer and some agricultural interactions with the environment. Rather it is to assess the evidence for landscape transformation with an open mind on whether we can 'define a rubicon with social consequence and substance that can systematically differentiate [hunter-gatherer from small-scale agricultural or pastoral] societies' (Feit, 1994: 438). Thus in this section I do not distinguish between hunter-gatherer and agricultural impacts, but instead review some case studies which illustrate methodological debates about the types of impacts/transformations which are visible in the palaeoecological record. Further, I want to show how those debates feed back into others relating to huntergatherer/agricultural transitions, and challenge us to rethink assumed categories. 2.3.1 North-west Europe Mooted human transformations of the landscape of north-west Europe include assistance of rapid early-Holocene migration of Corylus (hazel) (Huntley, 1994), Mesolithic defor-

estation associated with fire (Behre, 1988; Simmons, 1994; Wiltshire and Edwards, 1994) and enhanced development of blanket mire (Caseldine and Hatton, 1994; Moore, 1994). Brown (1997a) provides a critique of what he sees as this traditional account of 'clearance' or 'deforestation' in the Mesolithic/Neolithic of Europe, whereby an overall decline in tree pollen from around 3000 BC onwards in the British Isles is widely interpreted in terms of deliberate clearance and land management. He argues that the pollen evidence amounts to a record of decreases in canopy-forming taxa and the existence of open areas, generally followed by a delayed regeneration of woodland in the Mesolithic but an increasingly common lack of regeneration in the Neolithic and after, (p. 138)

Since there is a lack of archaeological evidence for ringbarking or stripping of trees, and no clear evidence of the use of mature trees on a large scale until the mid- to late Neolithic, Brown favours an opportunistic deforestation model, whereby a variety of natural factors (including drought or windthrow) are the initial causes of deforestation, with humans being the primary factor preventing regeneration. A couple of points are of interest here. One is Brown's call for 'a more fragmentary narrative' of human impacts, in which natural events and ecological instability have an increased role. Second, his interpretations, while they have theoretical ramifications, depend in the first instance on questions of methodology. Thus Brown (1999) calls strongly for more localized pollen analyses, and for recognition of the mismatch between palynological and archaeological sampling methodologies. Palynologists, he argues, have generally preferred sites which will provide regional vegetation histories. (Early palynology, keen to establish the field as a source of palaeoclimatic information, deliberately tried to exclude local variability.) Sites with larger pollen catchments may suggest vegetation homogeneity when the reality is much more patchy. There is also a bias in Britain towards upland and bog sites. Alluvial sites, Brown argues, provide the means to overcome both these problems. They are inherently local sites, but were also

26 TRANSFORMED LANDSCAPES

important foci for prehistoric occupation, particularly in regard to the watering of cattle. He illustrates this with a study of the Soar and Nene valleys, in England's east Midlands, in which palynological and archaeological evidence was examined at comparable (local) scales (Brown, 1999). Small-scale localized disturbances, in which natural events such as flooding and windthrow were important, occurred in the Neolithic, but these were temporary. Larger-scale deforestation with considerable spatial variability occurred in the Bronze Age, and by the mid- to late Iron Age the floodplains were almost totally deforested for stock management, with some cultivation on the terraces and fringes (see also Willis and Bennett, 1994, for a related discussion of scale in the Balkans). In turn, these findings stimulated questions about human perceptions of the changes. Was the late Neolithic/early Bronze Age vegetation change associated with ritualization of the floodplain as recorded by barrow construction? And what was the cultural significance of the shift between the Bronze and Iron ages from a woodland landscape with openings to an open landscape with woodlands (Brown, 1999: 7)? These issues are discussed further in Chapter 4. MUCHOYA SWAMP 2260m

MUBWINAI SWAMP 2100m

2.3.2 Central Africa Even though both a long period of human occupation and the background variability of early Holocene landscapes are acknowledged, most workers in north-west Europe consider that early Holocene forests are, for all practical purposes, 'pristine' landscapes in terms of assessing human impacts. The issue is more problematic in parts of the world with longer human histories, for example the interlacustrine region of Central Africa - although, as Taylor et al. (1999) show, methodological issues such as scale of analysis, catchment size of pollen sites and articulation with the archaeological evidence are just as important. Further, establishment of independent climatic proxies, where possible, assists in teasing apart the human signals. For five locations in western Uganda over the past three thousand years, Taylor et al. use the following indirect proxies of human activity: reduced organic matter; increased sedimentation rate; charcoal; pollen from taxa associated with primary (Olea) and secondary (Celtis and Trema) forest; degraded soils (Dodonaea); and open vegetation (Vernonia and Poaceae) (Figure 2.4). Two phases of forest disturbance are identified. The first, at Muchoya and Kabata Swamps and at Lake Victoria around 2200-2000 BP, could reflect the introduction of

AHAKAGYEZI SWAMP 1830m

KABATA SWAMP 1370m

N.LAKEVICTORIA 1130m

Image Not Available 01000 25 0 25 0 100 1C 3000 0 100 01000 25 0 10 0 20

4 '«C dates (4 ams)

OM - organic matter

050 05

0 50 025 0 20 0 80 0 20 0 40 0 25 0 20 0 10 0 100 00.04 0 30 0 50

3 HC dates

3 '
Sed. rate - sedimentation rate

5 14C dates l4

C - radiocarbon date

6 14C dates + - occurrence

FiGURe 2.4 Summary of variations in sediments and signals of human activity from five locations in western Uganda Source: Taylor et al. (1999). By permission of David Taylor

HUNTER-GATHERER/AGRICULTURAL LANDSCAPES 27

iron working and agriculture to the region. The more widespread phase, associated with charcoal peaks with open and disturbance vegetation indicators at 1000-800 BP, correlates with Later Iron Age technological and settlement changes. However, the climatic context in which these changes were occurring was not static: conditions became more humid at this time, perhaps promoting major population movements into the area. Nor does climatic influence operate only in one direction: Kabata and Lake Victoria show a third phase of forest disturbance at 600-400 BP, a time of relatively dry climates. Mubwinai Swamp shows disturbance within the past 200 years, possibly associated with the colonial period. In many places that would be considered a fairly comprehensive set of indicators. However, Taylor et al. argue that such a suite of proxies, although commonly used in the tropics, unnecessarily constrains our understanding of human impacts: the choice of evidence has been partly guided by the 'orthodoxy' of deforestation, which views human activity in general as ecologically disruptive, intrusive and negative. Thus it is usually assumed that the onset of agriculture is, in the absence of direct indicators such as pollen from domesticated plants, marked by evidence of forest clearance and burning. (1999: 7) Thus African evidence for variable agricultural strategies is ignored. For example, 'shifting cultivators often make use of natural forest gaps and ... "forest" can be promoted by certain forms of agriculture, such as low intensity cultivation of oil palm (Elaeis guineensis)' (1999: 7). Also problematic in the assumption is the role of fire and change in natural vegetation dynamics, with pollen samples dating back to the last glacial showing a long period of fire history. Although they see the human signal in these five sedimentary records for the late Holocene as the loudest one, and thus human activity as the major cause of change, Taylor et al. thus emphasize that this interpretation is limited by the evidence. This does not demonstrate that these major and disruptive human impacts were the only form of human activity influencing ecosystems in the past three thousand

years. Long-term coexistence of 'regenerating' and 'stable' patches of forest is indicated at Ahakagyezi Swamp (Taylor, 1993). 2.3.3

New Guinea and Indonesia

Human impacts have been identified in highland New Guinea as early as 28,000 BP, on the basis of charcoal in slopewash deposits in the Baliem Valley, Irian Jaya (Haberle et al., 1991) (Figure 2.5). Although the connection to humans is circumstantial, natural fire is extremely rare in these cool, wet montane forests. The relevance of understanding the long-term role of fire in tropical forests was further highlighted by the widespread forest burning across Malesia during the El Nino event of 1997-98. Haberle et al. (in press) analysed 10 sites from the eastern Indonesian archipelago and Papua New Guinea for which consistent charcoal measurements and good chronological control since 20,000 BP were available. These were compared with independent climate proxies such as ocean sediment records and glacial change, and with archaeological data on human occupation. At this regional scale two main periods of high fire frequency were identified: during the last glacial transition (17-9 ka) and to the midto late Holocene (past 5 ka) (Figure 2.6). Although people were in the region throughout the period, Haberle et al. suggest that fire frequencies were related more to climatic factors than to changing subsistence patterns. Between 17 and 9 ka, increasing temperatures led to an expansion of forest vegetation. The dominant cause of fire is argued to be a weak and unstable southernhemisphere summer monsoon and its contribution to increased frost and drought, at least in the highlands. Within the past 5 ka climate variability associated with El Nino (Sandweiss et al, 1996; Rodbell et al, 1999) is implicated. Haberle et al. emphasize that changes in fire patterns are influenced more by climatic instability than by simply dryness per se. If we focus on the more recent end of this timescale, a further example of forms of agriculture which actually promote some forest

28

TRANSFORMED LANDSCAPES

145"

Bismarck Sea Long Island

Image Not Available

FIGURE 2.5 New Guinea location map Source Haberle (1998:1). Reprinted by permission of Australian Archaeology

(a) Cummulative charcoal

(b) Total cores

(c) Corrected charcoal

(d) Climate (e) Number of occupation sites in highland in New Guinea New Guinea

10 20 30

Severe ENSO droughts

Image Not Available

Warm Wet Stable

Transistion Warming Frost Droughts Cool and drier Cold (-5-C) and wet

FIGURE 2.6 Sedimentary charcoal, climate and occupation sites in highland New Guinea since 20000 BP Source: Haberle et al. (in press) By permission of Elsevier Science

HUNTER-GATHERER/AGRICULTURAL LANDSCAPES 29

elements comes from highland New Guinea (Haberle, 1998a), although in this example it was chosen for detailed study precisely because of its good palaeoecological visibility. This area is better known for its very early dates for agriculture, with organic infill from a drainage ditch in the Wahgi valley dated to around 10,000 BP (Haberle, 1998a: 4), although, as Haberle argues, there is no evidence for forest clearance in Wahgi pollen diagrams until about 4000 years later. (There is, however, evidence from other parts of the highlands for human impacts in the late Pleistocene (Haberle et al., 1991, and see above).) The past 2000 years was an important period in which agricultural and pig husbandry activities and exchange networks took on their contemporary configurations. Haberle focuses on one element, Casuarina agroforestry, in order 'to examine its origin in space and time and to develop hypotheses regarding possible causes' (1998a: 1). Many traces of agricultural staples, particularly sweet potato (Ipomoea batatas) and taro (Colocasia esculenta), have proved frustratingly invisible to researchers in the region. This is due to a combination of poor pollen production

and preservation and vegetative means of reproduction. Haberle thus turned to proxy indicators of agricultural activity, among them the Casuarina pollen record. Although C. oligodon, which is planted for its nitrogen-fixing properties that enhance fallow regeneration and soil fertility, is not palynologically distinguishable from other Casuarina species, increases in Casuarina pollen above low background levels are 'considered to indicate development of agroforestry practices associated with firewood, fencing and soil fertility enhancement' (Haberle, 1998a: 2). In a compilation of data from 16 archaeological and 23 palaeoecological sites across the highlands, other indicators were increased forest disturbance (reduction in forest pollen types and expansion of secondary forest and non-forest taxa), increased soil erosion (increased input of inorganic sediments) and archaeological features and artefacts. Haberle identifies at least two periods of widespread but not necessarily synchrononous change within the agricultural system in the past 2000 years (Figure 2.7). Casuarina agroforestry first appeared around 1190-970 cal yr BP in the Wahgi and Baliem valleys, up to 400 years later in the Kainantu valley to the east,

Inferred Equatorial temperature

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FIGURE 2.7 Comparison of climatic trends and human impacts in New Guinea highlands over the past 2000 years Source: Haberle (1998a: 9). By permission of Australian Archaeology

30 TRANSFORMED LANDSCAPES

and not until modern times in other areas. In the Wahgi the Casuarina increase post-dates a period of forest clearance and slope erosion. There was a second period of intensified activity after 650-400 cal yr BP, first in the Wahgi Valley. Increases in Casuarina planting were part of this, but raised-bed cultivation, decreased forest cover and increased soil erosion are also involved. Haberle argues this is probably the period when sweet potato was introduced to the highlands. Haberle's comparison of climate proxies and volcanic events with the agricultural changes cautions against using temporal correlations to invoke or refute causation in a simplistic way. Nevertheless, he considers drought and volcanism to be implicated in the shift from wetland (Kuk phase 4) to dryland (Casuarina agroforestry) agriculture after 1200 cal yr BP (see also Haberle, 1998b). The relative roles of climate and other factors in the intensification phase after 400 cal yr BP are less clear-cut. Although improved dating precision is useful, together with increased spatial resolution, the sorts of studies referred to here indicate that the most constructive use of increased precision will not be to demonstrate simple causal links between processes or events. Rather, it offers the scope to identify significant but short-lived changes, thresholds and variability that have until recently been invisible in the palaeoecological evidence. For example, Leyden et al. (1998) showed that, while Mayan agriculture on the Yucatan Peninsula was devastated by variable precipitation, native vegetation in the area was scarcely affected. Also important here is that such processes operate at timescales perceptible to humans; responses are likely to be the result not of selection pressure over time, but of deliberate cultural strategies. Of particular importance in the late Holocene is climatic variability, which continues to be influential through El Ninorelated droughts. Indeed, Haberle (1998a) shows cross-Pacific parallels between New Guinea and Peru in the use of dryland agroforestry, which 'may have been adopted as a response to low crop productivity and the need to rehabilitate abandoned dryland crop lands

after prolonged climatic stress' (Haberle, 1998a: 6). Understanding such interactions will be important for policy development contributing to future sustainable food production in the highlands, since 'rapidly expanding populations, increased deforestation and alienation of productive land for town and plantation use are the hallmark of present-day highlands development' (Haberle, 1998b: 10). 2.3.4 Australia Although the Australian pollen and charcoal data set is biased in its coverage to the betterwatered edges of the continent, 58 records were considered by Kershaw et al. (in press) to have sufficient resolution and chronological control to enable comparisons across the Holocene (Figure 2.8). Studies from a variety of environments show fire to be a consistent part of the ecosystem since 11 ka. The greatest increases in charcoal are associated with the arrival of Europeans about 200 years ago. 'This period was followed by a reduction in burning to present day levels which are, on average, lower than at any time during the Holocene' (p. 14). Within the prehistoric period there is a slight increase in burning in the past 5 ka; this is of interest as it is a period of both significant ENSO influence, as discussed above, and suggested intensification of Aboriginal occupation (Lourandos, 1983,1993; Head, 1989). The spatial and temporal resolution of both the palaeoecological and archaeological records is much improved since these issues were first raised in Australian debates some 20 to 30 years ago. However, all the examples discussed in this section show that we are somewhat misguided in our continuing attempts to 'decouple' or 'disentangle' human and natural causes. Instead we can productively focus on understanding in a more detailed way the environmental contexts in which humans have operated over much longer timescales. 2.4 Post-industrial impacts Human impacts in the past few hundred years increased in variety and intensity and are

POST-INDUSTRIAL IMPACTS 31

Average of rankings

Late European Early European

n = 58 n = 58

|

n= 16 n= 16

= 22 Image Notn Available

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n = 58

n= 16

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n = 45

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FIGURE 2.8 Relative importance of burning in time slices from the Holocene deduced from individual site rankings of charcoal abundance for 58 site records, and separately for different ecosystems, in south-eastern Australia Source: Kershaw et al. (in press). By permission of Peter Kershaw

clearly evident in a range of indicators. Pollen evidence which is equivocal over prehistoric impacts is much less so over European colonization, for example in North America (McAndrews, 1988) and Australia. Temporal overviews of the more recent end of the timescale focus on the past three hundred years or so (Turner et al., 1990). Within palaeoecological research, better preservation of recent evidence, larger numbers of young deposits and fine-resolution studies have facilitated a shift from inductive to deductive approaches (Oldfield, 1994). For much of the Quaternary, and for the debates discussed above, there has been little alternative to inductive approaches which aim to fill gaps in knowledge. While these may eventually lead to bodies of data amenable to the testing of specific hypotheses, that is already possible in some large-scale palaeolimnological projects. The human transformations referred to here extend, then, to climate, for example research into acid rain. This work also has the role of what Oldfield calls 'projective' research, in which the longterm perspective is used to project future change, such as under enhanced greenhouse warming (e.g. Punning et al., 1997b). As Oldfield (1994: 17) points out, deductive approaches build on an immense body of preexisting work. In the case of the palaeolimnological studies of lake acidification, that includes detailed taxonomy and

understanding of pH, salinity and nutrient preferences of organisms such as diatoms, cladocera and chironomids. It also requires dating and sedimentation processes to be well understood. Hypothesis evaluation can then often be undertaken using careful site selection, analysis of multiple proxies and appropriate statistical techniques (Battarbee, 1991). For example, Battarbee (1991:160-5) showed how the following competing hypotheses for lake acidification in Europe and North America could be evaluated: (1) Lakes may be naturally acidic and have not changed over time. (2) There has been slow post-glacial acidification as a result of leaching. (3) There has been acidification since 1800 as a result of land-use changes including increase of conifer forest and decline of burning and grazing. (4) There has been acidification since 1800 as a result of increased acid deposition from fossil fuel combustion. The first two hypotheses were relatively easily ruled out, since 'evidence for a marked reduction in lake-water pH is usually confined to the most recent sediments, postdating 1800 a.c.e. [after the Christian era, i.e. AD 1800] and usually following long periods of very stable conditions' (Battarbee, 1991: 161). A range of studies ruled out hypothesis 3. Adjacent non-

32 TRANSFORMED LANDSCAPES

afforested and afforested sites show acidifi- oidal fly-ash particles and heavy metals have cation over similar timescales, or that been examined (Varvas and Punning, 1993; acidification preceded planting. Separating Punning et al., 1997a). Historical data also hypotheses 3 and 4 is more difficult when the becomes an important research tool in this timescales of land-use and acid deposition context (Koff et al., 1998). The integration of changes are the same. multi-proxy palaeoecological indicators with However, it is possible to remove the influence of historical evidence is a feature of studies of acid deposition either by examining a sensitive recent human transformations in diverse site with land-use change in a 'clean' area or by corners of the world (e.g. Baker et al., 1993b, in examining the lake response to an analogous the midwestern USA). change in soil or vegetation in the 'clean' (pre1800 a.c.e.) past. Such a 'past analog' can be identified by pollen analysis ... These data show that land-use changes in the absence of acid deposition have little effect on lake acidity; however, land-use changes in association with acid deposition can be important. (Battarbee, 1991:161)

I have oversimplified this example to contrast the explanatory power of this type of study with the more inductive work on earlier periods, discussed earlier in the chapter. As the hypothesis becomes more precisely defined, it may allude to only part of a wider set of environmental issues. For example, while conifer afforestation in the UK is not implicated in lake acidification, it does have other detrimental effects, such as accelerated soil erosion through intensified catchment interference, and nutrient enrichment associated with fertilizer and pesticide use (Battarbee et al., 1985; Battarbee, 1990). Of course, high-resolution work in the more recent period also has the potential to show much more complex patterns of interaction and feedback. Industrial activities influence atmospheric, biological and geological processes in increasingly complex ways; simple relationships between cause and consequence should not be expected (e.g. Punning, 1994). A further feature of deductive approaches is the necessity of large research teams combining various skills and techniques. Impacts assessed by a team from the Institute of Ecology in Estonia include those associated with the largest commercially exploited oil shale deposit in the world. Excavation of the oil shale leads to groundwater depletion and deforestation, and shale oil production results in atmospheric emission of fly ash (Punning, 1994). As well as indicators such as pollen, diatoms and charcoal, trace elements, spher-

2.5 Strengths, limitations and future directions There are definite trends perceptible in the diverse examples included in this chapter. In all debates there is increasingly explicit attention to working at spatial and temporal scales appropriate to the questions being asked. In the case of questions about human impacts, localscale studies are of particular importance. At the recent end of the time spectrum this work has led towards explicit testing of hypotheses. However, even in earlier periods in which not all variables can be controlled for, comparisons between different scales are producing important insights. In turn, more nuanced explanations can be developed, even if they are still within an inductive framework. With the influence of a simplistic environmental determinism virtually completely removed, it has become possible to discuss the agency of the environment in more complex and interesting ways. Simple correlations with environmental variables, whether to invoke or to rule out causation, are spurious, and there is increasing interest in thresholds, perceptions and variability. Some workers have argued that our thinking has been unduly constrained by the nature of the evidence to hand. For example, dominance of pollen and charcoal evidence in these debates has meant a focus on vegetation. While many would still argue that fire was part of the earliest human toolkits, it is important to think about the likely impacts of activities for which we have no evidence. The very clear trend to the use of multiple proxies will continue. Further, once we are no longer attempting to

STRENGTHS, LIMITATIONS AND FUTURE DIRECTIONS 33

deduce multiple processes from single or few similarities and differences. Not just across the indicators (for example, climate, ecological Australia-New Guinea divide, but more process and human impacts from pollen), each widely, we seem to be moving away from the indicator can be used more effectively and assumption that hunter-gatherers automatiappropriately. cally have certain sorts of (little) impacts and Similarly, interpretations have been heavily agriculturalists have others (big). There are biased by the regions where most research has connections between the palaeoecological been undertaken. With complex human perspective on these questions and the archaehistories and still limited palaeoecological ological thinking (Chapter 4). work, South-East Asia and Africa stand out as The apparently messy colonization stories, regions that are likely to reorient our thinking such as the New Zealand one, have the in the next few decades. potential to subvert very linear notions of As it is, the studies discussed do not just offer human history, of conquering the corners of the an increasingly detailed understanding of the Earth. Even though it might be resolved in a ways in which humans have transformed the non-messy way, it has great promise for a more Earth over the long term. They also provide complexly rendered understanding of the challenges to a number of debates within the human history of the Pacific. What happened social sciences. For example, very after deforestation? What are the permutations dichotomized views of hunter-gatherer and of land use? What were the relationships agricultural systems, and deterministic trajec- between social structures and land use? In tories of evolutionary change from one to the helping us to think about colonization as a other, are not supported by the evidence process rather than a single event, the record of discussed here. The move away from very human transformations also connects with large scales of analysis that conflated a great conversations occurring in the social sciences, deal of social and ecological complexity facili- as will be discussed in Chapter 5. tates more systematic thinking about

The question of natural ness: environ mental change in ecology and palaeoecology

3.0 Chapter summary Ecology and palaeoecology have undergone something of a convergence in recent decades in a renewed emphasis on historical rather than cyclic change. The concept of the balance of nature has been found severely wanting. Approaches referred to as 'non-equilibrium ecology' draw on empirical evidence of change, instability and dynamism in ecosystems, and challenge Clementsian ideas of succession, stasis and equilibrium. Palaeoecological evidence of long-term vegetation change, species- rather than community-level response and variable refugial strategies supports the same conclusions from different directions. In both fields, disturbance is now understood as integral to ecosystems rather than an external process. Change is the norm. In management terms, that does not mean that 'anything goes', as we are now in a better position to understand the frequency, magnitude and degree of change from different causes. This work raises both philosophical and practical management challenges to concepts of naturalness, pristine baselines and human impacts. It also provides exciting practical opportunities for the past to inform the present and future, since the past influences contemporary ecosystems at a range of timescales. These opportunities are more likely to be at the local and regional than the 'big picture' scale.

3.1 The change in environmental change This chapter is about the 'change' in environmental change. Its central theme is the shift in understanding - from stability as the norm to change as the norm - that characterizes the ecological sciences in recent decades. This rethinking is often referred to as 'the new ecology', or 'non-equilibrium' or 'disequilibrium' ecology. The long-term record of changing environments is relevant in the first instance irrespective of what it says about humans. Research is consistently showing that 'change takes place all the time, in all sorts of directions and at all sorts of scales, catastrophically, gradually, and unpredictably' (Stott, 1998: 1). Integral to this rethinking is a shift from the cyclical time of systems ecology to historical time (Zimmerer, 1994), and thus the exciting possibilities of linking the deep past to contemporary questions which are the subject of this book. The 'new ecology' requires us to critically rethink concepts important to our broader discussions. What is natural? What is the normal state of affairs in the environment? Where are the baselines, and is the concept of a baseline even relevant? Inevitably, then, the view that change is the norm has human implications: first, for a different perspective on the human role in environmental change, and

THE CHANGE IN ENVIRONMENTAL CHANGE

second, for management of environments and landscapes. Stott argues that many of our management strategies are directed to the impossible, indeed spurious, goal of stability. 'We are trying to replace human flexibility and adaptation by god-like control and stasis, and it will not work' (Stott, 1998:1). Work in the natural sciences provides a very clear picture of changing environments. It is possible to build up a relatively precise picture of the multiple spatial and temporal scales at

35

which change occurs (Figure 3.1). Concepts such as periodicity, discontinuity, trends and rates are integral to these discussions (Huggett, 1997). Awareness of long-term environmental change is not a new phenomenon, but was central to the nineteenth-century revolutions in geology and biology. However, the dominance of systems models within ecology throughout the middle decades of the twentieth-century led to ahistorical approaches and an emphasis on notions of stability and equilibria.

Image Not Available

Time (log 10 years)

Figure 3.1 Spatial and temporal scales of environmental change Source: Huggett (1997: figure. 1.2, p. 5). By permission of Taylor & Francis Books Ltd

36

THE QUESTION OF NATURALNESS

The evidence in this chapter is drawn from two subdisciplines that have traditionally operated over different timescales and within different frameworks. They are now, however, showing a clear convergence on these issues. Quaternary palaeoecology operates mostly at a thousand-year timescale, while ecology's main framework is decadal. What is new in thinking about deep time is our ability to assign precise dates to particular changes, using a range of radiometric and other dating techniques. We are also able to utilize a range of new methods in the interpretation of the fossil record. One aspect of the convergence, a more historically oriented ecology, has been facilitated by a focus on change at the century timescale made possible by new fine-resolution palaeoecological work (Davis, 1994). Within ecology itself, independent evidence against equilibrium comes from the field of disturbance ecology. Also important here has been an expansion of ecological research far beyond the North Atlantic homeland of the ecosystem concept. These discussions take us to an issue that many scientists are uncomfortable with: the way in which the social context of the production of knowledge enhances the power of some depictions of the material world and disempowers others. Although the central theme of this chapter is that non-equilibrium views have gained ground because of the overwhelming empirical evidence in their favour, this has not occurred in a social vacuum. Further, we need to ask why it has taken so long for change to be accepted as central. Perhaps what is most notable in this chapter is the fact that in the late 1990s the authors of keynote papers, such as Stott (1998) and Meadows (1999), have felt such a strong need to reiterate the message of change. This, more than anything else, reminds us how entrenched the metaphors of balance, harmony and stability have become. The chapter, then, requires us critically to consider the ways in which ecology and palaeoecology construct stories about the world, ideas which are also important in Chapters 4 and 5. In the final sections of the chapter we consider the implications of non-equilibrium views for human

questions. These are issues which will be taken up more specifically in the second half of the book. 3.2 Ecology It perhaps surprised some scientists when the editor of the Journal of Biogeography recently attributed the crisis in biogeography and ecology to issues of metalanguage - 'the overarching language which governs the thoughts and expressions of all of us, both professional and popular' (Stott, 1998: 1) - and semiotics (signs and symbol systems). The social context of the construction of knowledge is perhaps most clearly evident when there is a disjunction between the empirical evidence and the dominant models, or just prior to a Kuhnian paradigm shift. Many would argue that the shift to non-equilibrium thinking within the discipline has well and truly occurred (Wu and Loucks, 1995). Barbour (1996), for example, considered the revolution over by 1960. It is true that the broader context which Stott discusses is at the interface between academic thought and public environmental debate, specifically the Kyoto Summit discussions on greenhouse warming and the possibility of curbing climate change. However, his writings and those of Meadows (1999) (see discussion below) are addressed very explicitly to an academic audience. In Stott's analysis the 'key signifiers' - climaxes, optima, balance, harmony, equilibria, stability, ecosystems, synecology, and the 'exotic other' - have been developed in specific historical circumstances. The main features of that context are the hegemony of forest ecology; the hegemony of equilibrium notions; and the hegemony of Europe and North America over the rest (Stott, 1998:1). This chapter cannot do justice to the long and complex history of ecological thought, and any summary risks oversimplifying the issues. Hagen (1992:11) has emphasized that the dualistic themes under discussion here - 'change and uniformity, instability and equilibrium, competition and cooperation, integration and individuality' - were established by about

ECOLOGY

1900. In many ways non-equilibrium ecology can be thought of as the most recent expression of debates that go back to Frederic Clements and Henry Gleason in the early decades of the twentieth century. At issue then were the status of the vegetation community, and the ideas of succession towards climax. Clements argued that groups of species living together in a given habitat were highly organized into natural, integrated units called communities. Gleason countered that such communities were only constructs of human thought and that in reality the distribution and behavior of every species were unbounded by imagined holistic bonds to all the surrounding species. (Barbour, 1996:234)

Despite a long-standing critique of succession, it has been extremely powerful as an image and as an idea (Figure 3.2). There were also important regional contexts to these debates, and their links to conservation (Bocking, 1997). For example, ecologists such as Arthur Tansley, who coined the term 'ecosystem', were influential in the development of nature conservation in Britain. They argued that comparison of 'manipulated' and 'natural' (i.e. reserved) ecosystems was

37

important for advancing ecological knowledge (Adams, 1997). In the context of urban expansion, this nature was seen as 'essentially static - an array of habitat fragments as natural objects set in a landscape of change' (Adams, 1997:281). In the USA systems ecology was particularly associated with the work of Howard and Eugene Odum. Also influential were watershed-scale studies such as the Hubbard Brook study begun by Bormann and Likens (Hagen, 1992; Bocking, 1997). On both sides of the Atlantic there was an interest in applying the results of ecological research to management and conservation questions (Bocking, 1997). Management was conceptualized in interventionist terms (Adams, 1997: 283), reinforcing an understanding of humans as external to the system being studied. There is also a regional influence on the recognition of non-equilibrium ecology, the dynamic nature of change being particularly evident to workers in arid lands (e.g. Sullivan, 1996) and developing countries (Zimmerer and Young, 1998). Empirical challenges to homeostasis and equilibrium emerged particularly in the 1970s, mainly through recognition of the dynamism

SUCCESSION

Image Not Available Bare

Annuals

Herbaceous perennials

Shrubs

Trees 'Climax'

FIGURE 3.2 The Clementsian model of succession after disturbance in natural landscapes, as reproduced and critiqued by Blumler (1998: 222). Note particularly Blumler's caption: 'Similar, but more beautiful, diagrams can be found in all ecology texts. Such diagrams idealize and therefore encourage acceptance of the model, whereas the sketch here trivializes it, and therefore makes it easier to perceive the underlying assumptions of progress, linearity, equilibrium, and bioutopia (climax)' Source: Karl S. Zimmerer and Kenneth R. Young (eds), Nature's geography. © 1998. Reprinted by permission of The University of Wisconsin Press

38

THE QUESTION OF NATURALNESS

and non-linearity seen in disturbance ecology (Pickett and White, 1985a). Two themes are particularly evident in influential writings on the so-called new ecology. The first is that new ways of thinking and talking were advocated by workers on the basis of empirical discrepancies: what they saw did not match the models. For example: The job needs doing because I am uneasy with the repeated assertions that nature's norm is balance, that this balance is fragile, and that current human activities invite the collapse of entire, complex ecosystems. In contrast, what I have seen during decades of fieldwork is neither pervasive order nor chaos, but comfortable disorder (Drury, 1998:1).

Second, it was clear to Drury and others that there were profound implications here for conservation and management. There is a strongly conservationist line in this literature, but the implications are not self-evident and require rethinking of static views of conservation. These issues are discussed most fully by Botkin (1990), who challenges the idea of nature as stable, balanced and undisturbed. As Botkin (1990: 10) asks, 'How do you manage something that is always changing?' Critics point to two main problems in accepting the new approaches (see Zimmerer, 1994 for review). First, it is argued, placing pluralism and contingency at centre stage undermines the possibility of ecology providing unified explanations. Second, research will become smaller scale in terms of the problems it takes on, because generalizations about complex systems will become much more difficult. As Zimmerer (1994: 111) argues, these are difficulties to be addressed, rather than strong attacks on the truth claims of the new ecology. 3.3 Palaeoecology 3.3.1 Species and community

Barbour (1996) attributed the shift away from the Clementsian and towards the Gleasonian view of the plant community to complex cultural forces by which knowledge was produced in North American plant ecology.

This 'revolution' of the 1940s and 1950s, he argued, was the product not of an accumulated weight of new evidence but of cultural factors conducive to the idea of fragmentation. Drawing on the oral histories of practitioners, his survey identifies widespread American cultural themes of fragmention [sic] of norms, the celebration of the individual, and rebellion against convention. Impermanence and uncertainty replaced predictability, and individual competition displaced group cooperation. At the same time there was an expression of anxiety at the loss of past certitude and stable social organization. (Barbour, 1996: 250)

Without downplaying the influence of broader cultural influences on scientific thought, it is interesting to note how comprehensively the actual evidence from palaeoecology (mainly pollen) has demolished essentialist ideas of vegetation communities in the decades since 1960. This is particularly the case in North America, where pollen analysts have been able to map species movements following the last glacial retreat in considerable detail (see, for example, Davis, 1983; Delcourt and Delcourt, 1987) (Figure 3.3). Three factors have facilitated this mapping: first, the wide distribution of sites with conducive preservation conditions; second, the detailed work generated by a large research population; and third, the fact that northern-hemisphere forest formations are represented palynologically by a useful number of distinctive tree genera. In more recent work the pollen mapping is corroborated and given greater spatial and temporal resolution with the use of plant macrofossils (Jackson et al, 1997). The individuality of response of plant species to environmental perturbation is indicated in much recent work in other parts of the world (see Meadows, 1999 for review). In the Amazon, altitude-determined vegetation belts did not respond uniformly to glacial and postglacial conditions (Colinvaux et al., 1997). 'Rather, plant associations formed and reformed as species occupied new centres of distribution in response to fluctuating climates' (Meadows, 1999: 259). Similarly, in highland central Africa, time-transgressive patterns of

PALAEOECOLOGY

39

Image Not Available

FIGURE 3.3 Maps showing the times of first arrival of four boreal species / genera in the eastern USA, moving northward during the late Wisconsin and early Holocene. Small numbers indicate arrival times in thousands of years at individual sites; isopleths connect points of similar age and represent the frontier for the species at 1000-year intervals. Stippled areas are modern ranges Source: Davis (1983: figure 11.7, p. 175). By permission of The University of Minnesota Press

40 THE QUESTION OF NATURALNESS

forest expansion and compositional changes in Holocene forests are indicated (Jolly et al., 1997). There are exceptions, however. In African lowland rainforests further west, Maley and Brenac (1998) identify periodicities of approximately 2000 years in the pollen curves of evergreen taxa such as Flacourtiaceae, Diospyros and Trichoscypha. In that context 'a modified "Clementsian" succession, involving predictable vegetation sequences culminating in a climax, remains arguably appropriate' (Meadows, 1999: 60). Further, in a number of examples reviewed by Meadows, plant communities identified palaeoecologically have no modern analogue. A single 'rainforest' is at any one time an artefact of biotic response to multiple past disturbances of different periodicities, for example: • • • •

10-100 years for regeneration of tree fall gaps; 100 to at least 500 years for response to favourable climate change; 10-100 years for setback due to unfavourable climate change; 1-10 years for recovery from large fires (Maley and Brenac, 1998).

Another series of periodicities would need to be considered for various human influences. 3.3.2 The question of refugia If forests and their various components expanded in complex ways throughout the Holocene, where had they been in the harsh glacial conditions of the late Pleistocene? Debates over potential refugia have long and regionally variable histories. For the tropics, a viewpoint arose that interpreted areas ('islands') of elevated diversity and levels of endemism within the tropics as the Pleistocene refugia of rainforest taxa. According to this view, these areas represented places of refuge at moderate altitude, where plant and animal species adapted to the hot and humid climates of lowland equatorial regions survived during what were emerging as cooler and drier climates of the glacials, when the savannas became much more widespread. (Meadows, 1999: 258) Meadows points out that this view has been criticized on the basis of palaeoecological evidence

(e.g. Hooghiemstra and Van der Hammen, 1998), but that evidence has been biased towards the mountains, where conditions favour accumulation of organic sediments. (Some highland evidence has also been equivocal on the subject, e.g. Jolly et al. (1997) for East Central Africa.) Comparative evidence from the lowland tropics has begun to emerge more recently. For the Amazon lowlands of north-west Brazil, Colinvaux et al. (1996) argue that even significant glacial cooling was insufficient to displace or fragment the rainforest significantly, and alternative explanations for species endemism are indicated. For lowland Africa 'the refugium theory appears still to offer an appropriate model of vegetation change in the late Quaternary, even if it does not offer a valid explanation of patterns of diversity and endemism' (Meadows, 1999: 260). And, if the refugium theory remains viable for the African forests, it is partly because of some evidence for glacial forest expansion. DeBusk (1998) argued that montane forests around Lake Malawi expanded in response to both cooling and increased precipitation around the last glacial maximum. This supports a 'stepping-stone' view of biotic exchange between the forests of East and West Africa (Meadows, 1999: 262). On either side of the equatorial rainforest biome in South America, vegetation instability and variation throughout the late Quaternary are indicated by a number of recent studies. Thus 'the key message of Quaternary biogeography lies in the ubiquity of change and the fallacy of assuming that, in nature, stability is normality' (Meadows, 1999: 266). In terms of understanding the response of ecosystems to future environmental, particularly climate, change, the Quaternary record has both limitations and a vital role (Box 3.1). While past conditions in themselves offer poor analogues for the future, the key is in understanding the mechanisms by which organisms respond (Huntley et al, 1997: 489). 3.4 People and disturbance The rise of non-equilibrium approaches both requires and facilitates a rethinking of the way

PEOPLE AND DISTURBANCE 41

Box 3.1 The Quaternary fossil record as a key to the future: limitations and strengths summarized from Huntley et a/., 1997)

Strengths • Longer timescale than contemporary studies. • Identify potential refugial areas. • Provides data to test model predictions. • Future responses of organisms will be by the same principal mechanisms, and be subject to limitations inherent in these mechanisms. people are viewed within ecology (McDonnell and Pickett, 1993a). This is illustrated here by a comparison with 'disturbance'; metaphorically, people and disturbance are similarly placed in this debate. Are they normal and part of the system, or external? For example, Adams (1997: 286) argues that 'gone ... are the days when conservationists could conceive of "nature" in equilibrium and hence portray humaninduced changes in those ecosystems as somehow "unnatural" We could replace 'human' in this quotation with 'disturbance' or one of its variants, 'fire', and make exactly the same argument. Perhaps surprisingly, the ecological literature continues to use the term 'disturbance', with its connotation of interference with the due course of any action or process, at the same time as it is shown to be an integral part of ecosystems (e.g. Klomp and Lunt, 1997: 53-4; Peacock et al, 1997). Much global change research also uses definitions of disturbance as external to the system (e.g. Sala et al, 1999: 309). Further, as White and Pickett (1985) argue, it is not just a matter of reversing existing categories of exogenous and endogenous change. Rather, because distinctions between 'inside' and 'outside' are difficult to make, they can be regarded as the endpoints of a continuum, with many disturbances combining aspects of each.

• Prediction of animal taxa at greatest risk of extinction. Limitations • Late twentieth-century human impacts are without precedent. • Trace-gas-induced future climate change may differ in pattern and magnitude from orbitally induced change. • Altered atmospheric composition (especially CO2) will have impacts on plant function. • Taphonomic and taxonomic biases in fossil record. • Variable spatial and temporal resolution. • Human impacts have altered potential migration areas. For example, 'senescence and death of overstory trees is an intrinsic community rhythm, but the proximal cause is often windstorm' (White and Pickett, 1985: 8). Other important features of disturbance have parallels in human activity: it is often patchy; it is distributed in time (frequency, discreteness, rotation time); it varies in impact or magnitude; and two agents may act synergistically, as well as interact with stress (Pickett and White, 1985b). This raises the whole issue of managing for change, and the dilemmas between intervention and preservation (Drury, 1998:187-92). 'Natural disturbance can be seen as part of the "nature" with which conservation is concerned' (Adams, 1997:286). The issue of change is to the fore in contemporary management of forests, rivers, coastal environments and stormdamaged woodlands. Some of these are examined in more detail in Chapter 8. There are profound and difficult questions here in terms of management. 'Removing the anthropogenic factors of change does not return us to a "stable" environment, for the earth's environmental history is one of continual variability and adjustment' (Meadows, 1999: 266). Adams (1997: 286) suggests that 'the environmental manager has now perhaps to be more croupier than engineer'. The predictive capacity of the non-

42

THE QUESTION OF NATURALNESS

equilibrium approaches is weaker (Zimmerer, 1994), but perhaps more realistic in being conscious of its limitations. There are also fears that acknowledgement of change may lead to an 'anything goes' approach and provide further justification for human-induced degradation. However, 'to accept certain kinds of change is not to accept all kinds of change' (Botkin, 1990: 11). Well-developed senses of scale, and critical understandings of the way knowledge is produced and utilized, are important variables in constructively using the insights of the 'new ecology'. Many of the readers of this book will be in a good position to compare different types of change in terms of frequency, magnitude and degree (Zimmerer, 1994; Zimmerer and Young, 1998). There is also a key paradox. The dominance of humans shows how integral we are to environmental change, yet our externality is

reinforced by the conceptualization of human influences in terms of 'transformations of the Earth' or 'alteration of Earth'. For example, in arguing that 'even on the grandest scale, most aspects of the structure and functioning of Earth's ecosystems cannot be understood without accounting for the strong, often dominant influence of humanity', Vitousek et al. (1997: 494) have to conceptualize humanity as partly integrated with, but mainly external to, the Earth system (Figure 3.4). The finding of human dominance is based on a review of a large body of well-known empirical evidence which is used to summarize the human contribution to environmental change in quantitative terms (Figure 3.5). Issues raised by this paradox are explored further in Chapter 5.

Human population Size

Resource use

Image Not Available

Figure 3.4 A conceptual model illustrating humanity's direct and indirect effects on the Earth system Source: Reprinted from P.M. Vitousek, H.A. Mooney, J. Lubchenco and K.M. Melillo, Human domination of Earth's ecosystems. Science 277: 494-9 (figure 1, p. 494). Copyright 1997 American Association for the Advancement of Science

Image Not Available

FIGURE 3.5 Human dominance or alteration of several major components of the Earth system, expressed as (from left to right) percentage of the land surface transformed; percentage of the current atmospheric CO2 concentration that results from human action; percentage of accessible surface fresh water used; percentage of terrestrial nitrogen fixation that is human-caused; percentage of plant species in Canada that humanity has introduced from elsewhere; percentage of bird species on Earth that have become extinct in the past two millennia, almost all of them as a consequence of human activity; and percentage of major marine fisheries that are fully exploited, overexploited, or depleted Source: Reprinted from P.M. Vitousek, H.A. Mooney, J. Lubchenco and K.M. Melillo, Human domination of Earth's ecosystems. Science 277: 494-9 (figure 2, p. 495). Copyright 1997 American Association for the Advancement of Science

CHANGE IN GLOBAL ENVIRONMENTAL CHANGE RESEARCH 43

Not all human impacts are dramatic and obvious. Indeed, the more people are integrated into ecosystems, the more complex are the processes likely to be. Thus the conceptualization of 'subtle human effects' is particularly important (Table 3.1). The examples given in the table tend to be negative ones, but there is no reason why subtle human effects are necessarily destructive. The examples in the table show very clearly the temporal dimension of subtle effects. They are often subtle precisely because the causal mechanism or trigger happened some time ago. Although some can be global, the spatial and temporal scales at which many subtle impacts operate is comparable to the analytical scales of ecological, palaeoecological and archaeological research, as we saw in some of

the examples of sections 3.2 and 3.3. It may be that it is in this domain that understanding of long-term environmental change will be of most practical management use. 3.5 Change in global environmental change research The burgeoning field of global change research is predicated on the ubiquity and acceleration of change. While it builds on work in the two disciplines already discussed, as well as others, it is important to consider how change is conceptualized in this specific area. The International Geosphere-Biosphere Programme (IGBP) identifies three main components of global change: land-use/cover

Table 3.1 Examples of subtle human influences within ecosystems Effect

Definition

Example

Indirect

Outcome of interaction between two entities is mediated by third party

organism that changes trophic structure

Historical

Biological

Echo of the past

Introduction of

Alteration of a

Forest structure

contemporary interaction resulting from prior state

as a result of land use a century ago

(subset of historical) Persistent

Deposition of organic layer in soil by partial vegetation

alterations in biotic component

harvest

Historical effect only

Destruction of a species refuge used

sporadically apparent

only during drought

Lagged

Triggered some time before they appear

Gradual destruction of stratospheric ozone by chtorofluorocarbons

Unexpected action at a distance

Can be unsubtle,

Impact of pest eradication programmes on migratory animals

e.g. pollution release, but more unexpected when they are subtle

Source: McDonnell and Pickett (1993b)

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THE QUESTION OF NATURALNESS

change; changes in atmospheric composition; and climate change. Humans are seen as a fundamental driving force in each of these, and the dominant influence on land-use/cover change. In a fourth area, changes in biological diversity (considered as both a component and consequence of global change), humans are also a key force (Walker and Steffen, 1999). As Table 3.2 shows, the influence of people is predicted to exceed that of climate change on terrestrial ecosystems in all biomes except the tundra-boreal forest.

The temporal dimensions of humans and disturbance are clearly recognized in this research, since it has shown very clearly that most of the world's vegetation is not in equilibrium with present climate. Thus 'past disturbance will play an important role in determining the future composition of long-lived plant communities' (Walker et al, 1999: 368). The recognition of change is now such that some critics have labelled 'sustainability' and 'equilibrium' as 'dangerous concepts' in the global environmental change debate:

Table 3.2 Predicted dominant driving force and critical management issues in four latitudinal zones over the next century Zone (biome)

Predicted

Critical issues

dominant driving force High latitudes (tundra-boreal forest) (Alaska, USA/Canada, Siberia)

Climate change significant temperature increases in past three decades

Sustainable management of boreal forest - logging methods need reappraisal for regrowth in warmer drier conditions

Mid-latitudes (grassland and deciduous temperate forest) (North America, China)

Land-use change

Land use and agricultural sustainabitity. Climate change may increase vutnerability to rare climatic events, erosion, pests (but currently unpredictable)

Sufa-humid to semi-arid tropics (tropical savanna) (West Africa, Australia)

Land use likely to override CO2 and climate change for several decades

High levels of grazing and/or cultivation increase sensitivity to changes in climatic extremes

Humid tropics (tropical rainforest) (Amazon, Sumatra)

Land use

Pressure for conversion of forest to agriculture, and for commercial forest harvesting will increase through twenty-first century

Source: Walker et of. (1999) Note: Regional analysis based on case studies from areas indicated in brackets.

CHANGE IN GLOBAL ENVIRONMENTAL CHANGE RESEARCH 45

In these concepts, the idea of change is accepted, but it is then immediately corrected and ameliorated by the qualifying notion that the direction and degree of change are 'sustainable', and not self-destructive, and that systems are likely to settle down to an original, or to a new equilibrium level, at a certain point in the future. These palliatives come in many versions (Moore et al, 1996:199).

Whether this is a fair summary of global change research is debatable, as is the meaning of 'sustainability'. These issues take us into the cultural domain of the next two chapters. I shall have more to say about how global change research conceptualizes culture, and the cultures of global change research, in Chapter 5.

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METHODOLOGICAL AND CONCEPTUAL TOOLS FROM THE HUMANITIES

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The social construction of nature and landscape

4.0 Chapter summary Within the humanities, recent rethinking of central concepts has taken place in a context influenced by the diverse perspectives of postmodernism. Foundational narratives, including those of science itself, have been under challenge. The challenge needs to be met rather than ignored or dismissed. Rigorous attention to the conditions under which knowledge is produced, and to the cultural or historical context of influential explanations, can only lead to improved understanding. The recent social constructions of culture, nature and landscape are explored. All are shown to have multiple and shifting meanings. They converge with evidence presented in Chapters 2 and 3 in demonstrating the problematic status of key environmental concepts such as wilderness and pristine nature. The use of the landscape concept in prehistoric archaeology is discussed in relation to debates about the European Neolithic. This provides a long-term perspective on several key themes: multiple meanings of landscape; the science/humanities dialectic; the material expression of symbolic behaviour; the prehistory of landscape memory; and the long history of ascribing meaning to the nature/culture dualism.

4.1 Culture, nature and landscape In Chapter 2 we looked at how cultural landscapes have been understood, within a section

of the natural sciences, as those physically transformed by human action. At least implicit, and sometimes explicit, in these analyses is the conceptual separation of culture and nature. Researchers may have trouble attributing particular evidence to either cultural or natural causes, but in general they do not regard the dualistic categories of human and nature as problematic in themselves. In Chapter 3 we gained more of a sense of the problem in debates over what to do with humans in conceptualizations of ecosystems. Within the humanities, however, central concepts such as culture, nature and landscape are seen not as preexisting realities but as categories constructed by social processes. Their meanings are multiple and shifting. In this chapter we examine shifts in the understanding of these three concepts within the humanities in the past few decades. This is not to suggest that previous conceptualizations were fixed; on the contrary, they have had a long history of change even purely within Western thought (Glacken, 1967). However, there are some distinctive features of the recent context which are important to understand. We start with a brief overview of that context, then examine what it means for the concepts of culture, nature and landscape. This does not mean that they are only concepts, with no material expression. Neither does it mean that nature has no agency independent of humans. Attention to the social dimensions of landscape has been of particular concern in archaeology, and is considered in some detail.

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THE SOCIAL CONSTRUCTION OF NATURE AND LANDSCAPE

The so-called 'cultural turn' in the humanities is often associated with postmodernism (see also Box 4.1), a movement 'characterized by scepticism towards the grand claims and grand theory of the modern era, and their privileged vantage point, stressing in its place an openness to a range of voices in social enquiry, artistic experimentation and political empowerment (Johnston et al., 1994:466). An emphasis on difference and diversity, rather than universality, in explanation is one of the hallmarks of the humanities in the past few decades. Awareness of that diversity comes from a range of sources. For example, feminism has been pivotal in showing how supposedly universal explanations are gendered; and non-Western and indigenous voices have challenged the ethnocentrism of Western thinking. As Cosgrove argues (1990: 344), the term 'postmodernism' implies a closure to something thought of as modernism. Although in some ways just as broad an umbrella term as postmodernity, modernity shares the charac-

Box 4.1 Putting postmodernism in a box In view of its diverse meanings and usage, and its emphasis on the diversity of speaking positions, postmodernism is perhaps the least appropriate term in the whole book to put in a box! The following material is summarized from Johnston et al. (1994). There are three usages of the term 'postmodernism' that Dear (1986) found it useful to distinguish:

teristic of intellectual and historical trends being intertwined. (Some of the confusion engendered by the use of the terms in relation both to attitudes and to periods of time is discussed in the box.) The Modern era is usually associated, then, with: • • •

the Scientific Revolution (the rise of rationality and objectivity in knowledge systems); predominantly European colonialism, in which exploration and the development and extension of capitalism were linked; 'a belief in historical linear progress through technology and materialism' (Cosgrove, 1990: 351).

These strands were linked into an understanding that the world was knowable, using rational, empirical means, an understanding that persists in much positivist science today. The new science replaced previous analogical and metaphorical ways of knowing. It 'distrusted metaphor, or, more precisely,

writing and reading of text. Deconstruction is a destabilizing method that challenges claims to truth and looks for ambiguities, incoherences and alternative readings. • Postmodern epoch is a phrase often used in reference to the present era, characterized by rapid change and globalization. Harvey (1989) has argued that we are not actually 'post'-modern; rather, we are in the most recent stage of capitalist evolution, characterized by flexible accumulation and space-time compression.

• There is postmodern style, in which architecture is the paradigmatic art, A related movement is post-colonialism, characterized by a diversity of design which challenges the impact of imperialism on non-Western cultures. Post-colonial elements. • Postmodern method centres on the writing illustrates the ethnocentrism of strategy of deconstruction, which seeks to much Western history, geography and literdemonstrate how the multiple posi- ature, and provides alternative voices, e.g. tioning of the author and reader (for indigenous ones. In a similar way, feminism example, in terms of gender, class, has shown the gendered nature of much historical background) influences the Western thinking.

CULTURE, NATURE AND LANDSCAPE 51

regarded its metaphors and models as transparent lenses to true meaning rather than themselves constitutive of it' (Cosgrove, 1990: 350-1). The critique of scientific claims to truth gained ground in a late twentieth-century social context of pessimism about both science and progress. Not only had science not prevented significant environmental problems, it was deeply implicated as part of the problem in issues such as nuclear weapons, acid rain and chemical pollution. Critics - in both the sciences and the humanities - of postmodern approaches and cultural theory focus on two main issues: inaccessible language and relativism. In suggesting ways in which human geographers can engage with practising scientists in these debates, Demeritt (1996) reminds us that, with a few exceptions, the sciences and humanities have continued to occupy parallel universes. 'Ironically, bold pronouncements by post-modernists of the death of Enlightenment metanarratives have been written in such a way that the next of kin empiricist and positivist physical geographers - missed the funeral' (Demeritt, 1996: 485). Demeritt puts the onus on social constructivists to communicate better, and to focus on the analysis of scientific practice rather than more abstract discussions of representation (see Chapter 5 for more detailed discussion). However, there is also an onus on scientific practitioners, and environmental scientists in particular, to engage with these debates. It is unfortunate if arcane language provides an excuse for avoidance. If the term 'postmodernism' is a barrier to the readers of this book, they are welcome not to use it, but there are issues here which cannot be avoided. For many scientists, challenges to the possibility of objective truth are unnerving. This is particularly the case given the close links between Western scientific perspectives on conservation and global change research. Where does one find a defensible political position if all these diverse perspectives are equally valid? The most creative thinking about the dilemmas of objective truth, social constructivism, relativism and political positioning that I have found is in feminist critiques of science

(Harding, 1986; Haraway, 1991). They have important implications for what is perhaps the central dilemma of this book: how are we to harness a long-term perspective on culture, nature and change - socially constructed as it is - to make an effective contribution to pressing real-world environmental issues? For Haraway, relativism is the mirror twin of totalization. While totalization promises vision from everywhere equally, relativism promises vision from nowhere, or rather, 'relativism is a way of being nowhere while claiming to be everywhere equally' (Haraway, 1991: 191). She argues instead for situated knowledges which recognize partiality and positionality and are accountable for their own claims. The goal is better accounts of the world, that is, 'science'. Above all, rational knowledge does not pretend to disengagement: to be from everywhere and so nowhere, to be free from interpretation, from being represented, to be fully self-contained or fully formalizable. Rational knowledge is a process of ongoing critical interpretation among 'fields' of interpreters and decoders. Rational knowledge is power-sensitive conversation. (Haraway, 1991:196)

This is not easy. How do we 'have simultaneously an account of radical historical contingency for all knowledge claims and knowing subjects, a critical practice for recognizing our own "semiotic technologies" for making meanings, and a no-nonsense commitment to faithful accounts of a "real" world' (Haraway, 1991: 187; emphasis in original)? Part of my argument in this book is that scientific and humanities conversations about long-term human interactions with the Earth are now converging in important ways that contribute to 'faithful accounts'. Scientists trained within an empiricist and positivist tradition often have two further difficulties with much humanities research: they consider that it produces results which are selfevident or a matter of common sense, and they consider it lacking in methodological rigour. As I try to show in this chapter, many of the most important concepts under discussion in this book, including ones central to the environmental issues of Part IV, are understood very differently in different historical and cultural

52

THE SOCIAL CONSTRUCTION OF NATURE AND LANDSCAPE

contexts. There is not necessarily any 'common' sense about these issues, and understanding the grounds of commonality and difference is crucial to solving very real environmental problems. Extending this thought, we need also to consider the research process as an arena of cultural practice, and understand how it gives rise to particular conceptualizations of environmental issues as 'self-evident'. This is the theme of Chapter 5. The methodologies on which researchers referred to here draw are diverse, rigorous and demanding of a diverse range of skills, the latter including both quantitative and qualitative approaches. Anderson and Gale's summary of the requisite qualities gives a sense of both the excitement and the demanding nature of the challenge: a sensitivity to people's subjectivity, a keen eye to the topographies that people fashion, a conscientious contextualising of the connections between people and place, a commitment to rigorous documentation and plausible argumentation, and an honest confrontation with our values and the relativity of our own interpretations. (Anderson and Gale, 1992:11)

Box 4.2 Linking landscape to social theory: common threads in recent debates • A reformulation of the concept of culture emphasizing human action over passivity. Culture is thought of as a process and expression of negotiated, even contestatory, personal and group interactions, hence it is constantly changing and contingent on context. This contrasts with a traditional superorganic conceptualization; • an emphasis on the symbolic, as well as on the behavioural interaction or recurrence between humans and their environment that attempts to reconcile the tensions between individual action and cultural structures; • a problematization of social categories, such as gender, ethnicity, class and race,

Harding argues that it is necessary to live with tensions and ambiguities, but that these in turn have great potential to be creative (1986:243-4). The concepts of culture, nature and landscape provide excellent examples of such tensions, and they are explored separately below. An important feature of recent debates has been the attempt to reinvigorate old concepts by linking them to contemporary social theory (Box 4.2). 4.1.1 Culture Recent workers in cultural geography have paid critical attention to the conception of culture inherited from Carl Sauer and the Berkeley school. There have been particular challenges to the so-called 'superorganic' view of culture, in which culture is understood as a total package, with a life of its own operating at a higher level than the individual. If culture can only be explained in its own terms, without reference to specific social forces and contexts, then its explanatory power is severely weakened (Jackson, 1989: 18). It is thus better understood as a process, 'a dynamic mix of

and examination of the ways landscape is implicated in the construction and maintenance of these categories; • the centrality of symbolic expression in the landscape and metaphorical conceptualizations of human-environment interaction as 'text', 'theatre', 'carnival' and 'spectacle' to emphasize the arrangement and manipulation of environments by power structures; • an awareness of the power of language by subjecting landscape narratives (and authors) to critical reflection and selfconscious interpretation that reveals ideological bias; • explicit or implicit connections to theoretical frameworks, such as neoMarxism, post-structuralism and postmodernism. Source: Rowntree (1996:140)

CULTURE, NATURE AND LANDSCAPE 53

symbols, beliefs, languages and practices that people create, not a fixed thing or entity governing humans' (Anderson and Gale, 1992: 3). Within an interdisciplinary conversation, cultural geographers are thus now more likely to recognize a plurality of cultures, and analyse 'the way cultures are produced and reproduced through actual social practices that take place in historically contingent and geographically specific contexts' (Jackson, 1989: 23). In providing a very brief summary of these trends there is a risk of reifying both contested concepts and complex theoretical positions. There has been considerable debate over whether what is sometimes referred to as the 'new cultural geography' throws the baby out with the bathwater - (see, for example, Price and Lewis, 1993; Sluyter, 1997; Willems-Braun, 1997), or paradoxically itself reifies something called 'culture' (D. Mitchell, 1995; Jackson et a/., 1996). We should be conscious of both continuities and differences in changing understandings of 'culture'. Such attention to historical process, and the historical contingency of particular situations, is a feature of both Sauerian and new cultural geography, and is particularly relevant to the themes of this book. To some extent the critique of Sauerian approaches is also an attempt to broaden the subject matter of cultural geography beyond the physical expression of culture in the landscape. Much recent attention has been directed to imaginative and symbolic geographies (Cosgrove and Daniels, 1988; Agnew and Duncan, 1989; Hirsch and O'Hanlon, 1995), often in urban contexts. Further, the idea that culture was the preserve of the exotic - the elite (culture as opera, ballet and art) and the Other (cultures of rural, 'traditional' societies) - was challenged (Anderson and Gale, 1992). For many cultural geographers the everyday geographies of mostly urban, mostly capitalist societies have commanded new attention. Thus the structures of daily life that tend to be taken for granted, or seen as natural, are themselves understood as problematic cultural worlds. 4.1.2 The social construction of nature Nature is one of the most problematic of these supposedly natural categories. It is also one of

the most important, since different conceptualizations of nature tell us much about how human beings understand themselves in relationship to the wider world. The fact that we have the same word in English for 'the essential qualities of a thing' and 'the features and products of the Earth itself, as contrasted with those of human civilization' shows how deeply embedded in Western thinking is the dualism of humans and nature. Yet recent work across several disciplines emphasizes (a) that the dualistic Western conception has been produced and reproduced in quite particular historical circumstances, and (b) that different cultures conceptualize the relationships between humans and their world differently (Merchant, 1980; Evernden, 1992; Simmons, 1993b; Cronon, 1996b). These works have also been influenced by research such as that discussed in Chapters 2 and 3 which shows the pervasiveness of human influences on the Earth. The key tension here is how to frame nature 'as both a real material actor and a socially constructed object' (Demeritt, 1994). In other words, how do we deal simultaneously with nature's autonomous dimensions and human constructions (both mental and material)? These are not just intensely interesting intellectual questions, but have clear relevance to debates about environmental change, as Proctor and Pincetl's (1996) discussion of spotted owl preservation in the USA demonstrates. They show how conservationist acceptance of a logic of purified nature led to different outcomes for spotted owl protection in the Pacific North-West and in southern California. The legislative context of these battles is the Endangered Species Act, which itself is argued to exacerbate the distinctions between pure and hybrid organisms and spaces. In the northwest USA the northern spotted owl became a flagship species, using the Endangered Species Act, in campaigns to save old-growth forest. Following this lead, efforts to protect the California spotted owl focused more on the spectacular Sierra Nevada forests than on the drier forests of southern California. 'These efforts have thus neglected owl habitat lying beyond the margins of purified nature,

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remaining silent about the devastating effects of urbanization on the sustainability of natural systems in the National Forests in southern California' (Proctor and Pincetl, 1996: 702). In the context of this example, pure nature is also associated with public land, while private land is relegated to the realm of 'culture'. Thus 'the profoundly significant land transformations going on ... on privately owned land ... remain fundamentally unchallenged except on a selective basis' (Proctor and Pincetl, 1996: 701). This type of analysis does not ignore issues of political pragmatism or scientific considerations of habitat quality. Rather, by including a focus on 'the categorical and spatial distinctions between landscapes prioritized for protection and landscapes given less priority or ignored altogether' (p. 686), Proctor and Pincetl situate the case study within a bigger biodiversity picture. They argue that the purificationist approach generates further endangered species by ignoring the fundamental driving force that leads to species extinction, namely development on private land. The agency of nature has been an important theme within the relatively new subdiscipline of environmental history. While the agency of nature would not surprise anyone working on long-term environmental change, it was relatively neglected within social theory until the past decade (FitzSimmons and Goodman, 1998: 196). This work is most developed in the USA, through the writings of Merchant (1989), Cronon (1983, 1991) and Worster (1985). Two important features of this discourse are its recognition of nature as being present and active in human affairs, and of reciprocity between nature and society (FitzSimmons and Goodman, 1998). This is not to suggest a uniformity of approaches in environmental history; indeed, FitzSimmons and Goodman outline several disputes among practitioners, particularly with regard to how different categorizations of nature are reified. We can only wonder why the same terrain has not been engaged with so visibly in recent historical geography (although note, for example, the works of Powell and Meinig (Powell, 1977, 1988a, b; Meinig, 1962). It is

possible that geographers have been battling the ghosts of environmental determinism for so long that they lack a conceptual vocabulary for an active but non-determining nature. Within human geography, discussions of nature and landscape have cohered around the social construction of meaning, rather than the biophysical environment itself. 4.1.3 Landscape

Like culture, landscape is no longer (if it ever was) something that can be simply defined. Rather, it is a concept whose problematic status makes it interesting. Just as in the analysis of cultures, there are a number of threads in current conceptualizations of landscape. From something originally understood mostly in physical terms, there has been a broadening of interest into the social dimensions of landscape. Extensive literatures are thus found not only in geography, but increasingly in anthropology and archaeology (Bender, 1993a; Head et al., 1994; Hirsch and O'Hanlon, 1995; Ucko and Layton, 1999). Of particular relevance to the concerns of this book is interest in the interaction between different dimensions of landscape: physical, social and symbolic. In identifying those different dimensions, we need to be wary of reifying them as economic base, social structure and symbolic or sacred superstructure. Instead I try to draw on studies where the interplay between and interpenetration of the dimensions are explored. The multiplicity of meanings of landscape could be usefully ambiguous, or it could be just plain frustrating (Gosden and Head, 1994; Rowntree, 1996). There is a sense from contemporary everyday usage in English that people have little difficulty with multiple, including metaphorical, meanings of landscape. We speak quite comfortably, for example, of 'political landscapes', of 'moral terrains', of 'mapping out strategies'. In the same spirit we can summarize the main uses of landscape, as identified by Rowntree (1996), for human geography (Box 4.3), without attempting to focus on one or other (Illustration 4.1).

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Box 4.3 Landscape themes in environmental change Landscape as ecological artefact • This is the theme of the Earth as transformed by human action, discussed in terms of the long-term record in Chapter 2. It is also seen in recent environmental history. Landscape as evidence for origins and diffusion • Landscape primarily as a backdrop for developments inferred or deduced from other sources, e.g. Sauer's classic study on agricultural origins. Landscape as material culture • Fundamental emphasis on the 'look of the land', e.g. barn types, fence architecture, field patterns. Urban landscapes • A range of questions now being asked about cityscapes, e.g. ethnic constructions of space and place, shopping malls as landscapes of myth Art, literature and landscape meaning • Long-standing interest in the ways people depict the landscape in various Cultural landscape will remain a fundamental concept in human geography more because of its momentum than because of its conceptual clarity. Landscape's definitional or methodological shortcomings notwithstanding, the term has been used too long and in too many ways to be radically revised. Furthermore, a receptive lay audience awaits our writings about landscape because it strikes intuitive chords about the visual and material environment. (Rowntree, 1996:147; emphasis in original)

The multiplicity of landscape also has political implications. In Australia the incorporation of notions of landscape into contemporary discourse has occurred partly in the context of

media. These feed back into society by privileging certain scenes or ways of seeing. Landscape as visual resource • Visual quality as part of a larger environmental quality, e.g. visual blight as equivalent to pollution. Landscape as ideology • Landscape studied for ideas and objectives that act as political social guidelines for a national culture Landscape's role in the production and maintenance of social categories • How individuals and institutions shape and control the environment to produce and reinforce power relations, especially of race, class and status Landscape as text, symbols and signs • Landscapes treated metaphorically as texts that were authored and, hence, could be read by insightful observers. Interaction between reader and text becomes as important as the material objects themselves. Source: Based on Rowntree (1996) Aboriginal claims to land. Settler Australians have been confronted with the very different conceptualization of land, and of human relations to land, expressed by Aboriginal people. They illustrate well how the same physical landscape can be conceptualized quite differently by different cultural groups. For example, pastoralists would think in terms of its suitability or otherwise for cattle grazing; a tourist might focus on its frontier or wilderness dimensions; a palaeoecologist might read it as an archive of long-term environmental change. It would be inaccurate, however, to suggest that so-called Dreaming stories are purely

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representational or symbolic devices in Aboriginal life. Rather, having become aware of different readings of landscape, we should extend our thinking to consider the ways in which the symbolic and the material dimensions penetrate one another, for example when Aboriginal people refer to their grandfather as a 'bush plum' (Young, 1992), or argue that uranium mining should not occur on particular land because it is 'sickness country'.

Young, 1992), and landscapes of exclusion, in which certain categories of people are constructed as being out of place (Sibley, 1992; Bender, 1993b). The process of naming places is an important part of claiming (and reclaiming) space in such contests (Berg and Kearns, 1996). As we will see in the parts of this book that deal with management of cultural landscapes, one way of gaining power over land is to have one's own definition - of culture, nature, landscape, or all three - appear as the commonsense one, the natural one.

4.2 Wild and tame

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ILLUSTRATION 4.1 Pagoda, Namsan Mountains park, near Kyongju, South Korea. This landscape is one that can be understood as simultaneously transformed by human activity and symbolic of social meanings (by permission of Gordon Waitt)

Although the particulars vary, the notion of contested landscapes has resonance in many parts of the world. Contexts include the contest between settler and indigenous, in for example Canada and New Zealand (Pawson, 1992;

Nowhere has the rethinking of culture, nature and landscape converged as strongly as in the recent reassessment of the wilderness ideal. Definitions of wilderness have a long history of change (Nash, 1967; Tuan, 1971; Powell, 1977), but I refer here particularly to the romantic wilderness ideal that has underpinned conservation and national parks policy in frontier societies such as the USA and Australia over the past century. The challenge to wilderness has come from diverse lines of evidence, including palaeoecological and archaeological demonstrations of long histories of human occupation (Head, 1990; Denevan, 1992; McNiven and Russell, 1995; Cronon, 1996a) and indigenous voices for whom wilderness areas are home (Sultan, 1991; Langton, 1995-6, 1996), as well as the general critique of nature discussed above (Cronon, 1996b). The discussion is cross-cut by an increasing awareness of the colonial heritage in the supposedly post-colonial environmental thinking and policies of New World societies (Head, 2000). As we discuss in later chapters, wilderness is less of an issue in areas where the long history of human occupation is more widely recognized. Wilderness is only the most visible of a series of issues swept into this critique. Unsettling the boundaries between human and nature, tame and wild (Anderson, 1997), civilized and savage, native and introduced, challenges many of the conceptual and physical boundaries previously taken for granted in

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environmental management. What is the place of people in national parks? What is the status of feral animals or endangered species (Whatmore and Thorne, 1998)? Fundamentally, what is a natural environment? There are those, particularly conservationists working within a natural science framework, who see the critique as fiddling while Rome burns, as being 'just as destructive to nature as bulldozers and chainsaws' (Soule and Lease, 1995). The problem with this is the refusal to see science itself as a social process. For Soule (1995) there are at least nine distinct cognitive formations of nature in Western thought (Magna Mater, Unpredictable and Evil Bully, Ageing and Reluctant Provider, Wild Kingdom, Open-Air Gymnasium, New Age Temple, Wild Other or Divine Chaos, Gaia, Biodiversity). Biodiversity is 'the living nature of the contemporary Western biologist' (p. 140); science is seen as either equivalent to, or at the very least a transparent window on, living nature. The irony of the rejection of the critique by some natural scientists and others, is that it is predicated on a particular social construction of nature - one which is purified of its embeddedness in cultural schemes of knowledge and transformative practices, and hence stakes out this pure nature as worthy of protection from adverse human influence. (Proctor and Pincetl, 1996: 685)

Good science pays attention to the social context of its own production. We shall discuss this in detail in Chapter 5. 4.3 Landscapes of the prehistoric past In this section we look at different ways in which the notion of the social landscape is being used in archaeology. Archaeology provides a particularly useful disciplinary example because it illustrates a number of the general themes already raised: • •

There are multiple meanings of the notions of social or cultural landscape. A dynamic is created between humanities questions and the use of natural science techniques to find answers.

•

• •

•

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Further, since archaeology by definition deals with the material record of human behaviour, it is well placed to analyse the relationships between materiality and the less visible elements of social and symbolic activity. The long time perspective of archaeology matches that of this book. In relation to cultural heritage issues discussed in Part IV, archaeology reminds us that valuing and remembering the past is not a recent process, but can be shown to have existed at various times in prehistory. Landscapes of memory are not neat and tidy landscapes, but are inscribed and reinscribed with meaning in a patchwork of ways. Constructing meaning about the categories of nature and culture, and the boundaries between them, is part of long-term human history.

The temporal perspective brings with it dilemmas of appropriate scales of analysis. One of the problems in archaeology has been the tendency for environmental variables to be viewed as long-term processes and constraints, and social variables as short-term ones - for the human story to be in effect a story of the gradual enculturation of nature. I disagree with that view, and want to put forward analyses in which not only are the categories culture and nature problematized, but also both social and environmental processes, however we constitute them, interact over a range of timescales. However far back in time we go, people were acting according to their social construction of their world. Projecting into the future, we have not overcome our embeddedness in the physical world. If we had, there would be no 'environmental problems' and no reason for this book. The exciting opportunity here is to examine interactions between humans and their landscapes over very long timescales. Those changes were not, however, predetermined or inevitable. The tradition of landscape archaeology that I focus on here is most strongly developed in north-west Europe. It is important to distinguish it from the North American tradition whose themes, to overgeneralize, have more in

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common with the idea of 'landscape as artefact', such as we saw in Chapter 2. Both traditions utilize a range of scientific evidence within archaeology, such as palaeoecological indicators, radiometric dating and analysis of use wear and residue analysis on stone tools. However, it can be argued that North American landscape archaeology is characterized by a strongly scientific methodology (e.g. Rossignol and Wandsnider, 1992), whereas there is more interest in Britain and north-west Europe in embodied and phenomenological approaches to landscape (Bender, 1999). In the former, workers are more likely to align their approaches with those of Carl Sauer, for example with respect to the need for multidisciplinary field studies (Dunning et al.r 1999), or in relation to the changing nature of cultural landscapes (Gartner, 1999). They are also more likely to still feel a need, in working with palaeoecological evidence, to differentiate themselves from environmentally deterministic thinking (Erickson, 1999). In Britain and north-west Europe there is a trend towards thinking about how different people live in and move around sites and landscapes, creating, resisting and reworking meanings. As Cooney emphasizes, we cannot hope to think like a prehistoric person did about their landscape but we can reconstruct an overview of what the elements of that landscape may have been and then try to understand what they meant for the people who were carrying this landscape round in their heads. (1999: 47)

the past been most fundamentally challenged by non-Western and indigenous voices (Bond and Gilliam, 1994; Schmidt and Patterson, 1995)? Those voices have certainly been important in contributing to the climate of challenge in which social and cultural processes have come to the fore, and they are explored in more detail elsewhere in this book. However, for the purpose of illustrating the multiple ways in which social landscape can be theorized within archaeology, I have found this particular European debate to be the most useful. Analysis of the research process itself is critical to these debates; for example, we will see how the boundary between the Mesolithic and Neolithic was reified by different approaches and traditions of scholarship. While the new approaches focus on social rather than ecological processes, this is not to suggest that palaeoecological evidence is irrelevant in these debates. Indeed, as we saw in Chapter 2, some of it has been used as part of the critique of traditional models (Brown, 1997a). This section should thus be read against the different perspectives presented in section 2.3 of Chapter 2. 4.3.1 Multiple landscapes

Cooney's (1999) overview of social landscapes in Irish prehistory provides a useful example of multiple landscapes and their attendant methodological difficulties. He begins by using the complexity of contemporary perceptions of The subject matter at issue in this literature is the Irish landscape as a reminder of the diffithe Mesolithic-Neolithic transition in north- culties in interpreting the prehistoric past. The west Europe, particularly Britain, and the tourist image of Ireland is 'an uncrowded, nature of the Neolithic itself (for overviews and green and pleasant land, a timeless land where bibliographies, see, for example, Thomas, 1991, visitors from more frenetic lifestyles and land1996; Barrett, 1994; Whittle, 1996; Van Gijn and scapes can come for rest and relaxation' (p. 46). Zvelebil, 1997; Edmonds and Richards, 1998). This is argued to have links to both colonial Three themes are highlighted here: the multiple (empty and awaiting development) and notions of landscape; the notion of domesti- romantic (wild, uncultured and allied to the cation as a state of mind rather than as a genetic eighteenth-century invention of 'the Celt') transformation of plants and animals; and the views of the Irish landscape. A combination of such images is commonly utilized in the develidea of remembering in the past. There is perhaps a risk here in choosing the opment of national identity. These themes will most Eurocentric of possible examples. Have be explored further in Part IV when we not Western understandings of landscape and consider the complexity of landscape percep-

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tions in tourism and cultural heritage management. Difficult though such complexity may make the interpretation of the prehistoric record, it also emphasizes that all landscapes are essentially social, in that 'we perceive, understand and create the landscape around us through the filter of our social and cultural background and milieu' (p. 46). Cooney's study (1999) uses five dimensions of prehistoric landscape: 'landscapes from the outside', 'people, pathways and places', 'sense of place', 'landscape as context of activity', and 'transforming the landscape' (cf. Box 4.3). I summarize here the main features of each one in order to illustrate how a multi-layered interpretation can be built up. His central argument about the Irish Neolithic is that a sense of place can be seen as a major theme running throughout the period, not only in the sacred sphere but also in the secular realm. The definition of space, or the fixture of elements within it, seems primarily to have been intended to create a sense of permanency in the relationship between the community and the landscape. A concern with inserting and asserting a long-term human presence in the landscape as part of the natural order was an aspect of both secular and sacred life (Cooney and Grogan, 1998). Landscapes from the outside refers to the extent of prehistoric settlement as discerned from the spatial distribution of archaeological evidence such as monuments and artefacts. It also draws on palynological evidence of human impacts on vegetation, as is discussed in different contexts in Chapter 2, although in the Irish context Cooney argues that circular arguments have been used to reinforce interpretations of changing settlement intensity. The dots-on-a-map approach to settlement patterns can lead to static depictions of complex systems in which there is little consideration of people, pathways and places. As well as construction and use of megalithic tombs, Neolithic Ireland (since the fourth millennium BC) shows evidence of field boundaries, longterm forest clearance for agriculture, and substantial houses. Cooney interprets this as indicating that 'the house was at the core of settlement and life; the areas used for farming, gathering and hunting on a daily basis would

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have been the most familiar parts of the landscape' (1999: 50). Sites visited less often, such as stone quarry sites or cemeteries, would also have been seen as important, but perceived in quite different ways. Cooney contrasts the Irish evidence for early sedentism with the later retention of mobility in Britain. Archaeologists in Britain tend now to view the Mesolithic and early Neolithic landscape 'as one in which mobility was the binding thread, linking places of social and religious significance' (Cooney 1999: 49), with a place-bound landscape perspective centred on the household not developing until the second millennium BC. A sense of place is developed through longterm interactions with permanent structures such as megalithic tombs. For example, at Loughcrew an elongated ridge divides two river systems. Clusters of passage tombs on the ridge crests surround large, focal hilltop cairns, which oral tradition relates were dropped by a witch (Cooney, 1999: 52-4) (Figure 4.1). Similarly, Silbury Hill in southern England is visible from many places in the surrounding countryside (Figure 4.2). The focal point this affords is interpreted by Barrett (1994: 31) as making possible the 'ceremonial presencing of an elite' who were both visible and unreachable. As Barrett argues, most archaeological approaches 'privilege the date of creation over the chronology of appreciation' (1999: 22). In fact, later people can interact with long-lived landscape features in ways quite different from the intent of their creators. The creators may also have never completely realized their own intent. Barrett (1994: 13) argues, for example, that the enclosure and stone circles at Avebury, linked visually to Silbury Hill, are 'the physical remnant of a number of abandoned projects and not the culmination of a series of planned phases' (Illustration 4.2). Nor is this point only or particularly relevant to structures created by people. Hunter-gatherers become intimate with landscapes through somewhat different patterns of mobility; investment of landscape features with meaning is characteristic of such societies. For example, the most permanent and prominent parts of 'unmodified' landscapes, such as rock outcrops, are often particularly

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FIGURE 4.1 The prehistoric archaeological landscape at Loughcrew, Ireland Source: After Cooney (1999: 53). By permission of Taylor & Francis Books Ltd

FIGURE 4.2 Four views of Silbury Hill showing how the platform projects above the skyline Source: After Barrett (1994:31). By permission of John Barrett

ILLUSTRATION 4.2 Enclosure, ditch and stone circles at Avebury, England, with interpretive signage

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significant places in Aboriginal Australia (Tacon, 1991; Fullagar and Head, 1999). The discussion above focuses on the attributed meanings of relatively spectacular features, but of course landscape also provides the context of activity. In Ireland this raises questions about the relationships and archaeological visibility of day-to-day and ceremonial or ritual activities (the profane and the sacred). This is tied into the patterns of use of wetland and dryland areas, for example the discussion about whether enclosure sites with materials deposited in nearby water bodies are best interpreted as frontier fortifications or as sacred sites with wetland elements (Cooney, 1999:58-9). Transforming the landscape is, then, understood not just as large-scale physical transformations and emplacement of structures, although these are important (e.g. Illustration 4.3). For Cooney, this theme represents 'continuity within change' (1999: 60) continuity being the place, which is experienced and remembered in multivalent and ambiguous ways. 4.3.2 Domestication as a state of mind The transition from hunter-gatherer to agricultural society is usually related to the domestication of plants and/or animals, the beginnings of cultivation and the onset of sedentism, not necessarily in that order. Within a natural science tradition, domestication is

Illustration 4.3 V-shaped fish weir built from basalt boulders, Lake Condah, south-eastern Australia. During flooding of the lake, weirs and channels were used by Aboriginal people to direct fish and eels into holding ponds and traps

defined by the morphological changes that plants, particularly, undergo (e.g. Roberts, 1989: 96). There is increasing attention in the humanities to the notions of domestication as a state of mind (Bradley, 1997), and the domestication of the environment (Yen, 1989). The significance of the transition is exacerbated by the different traditions of scholarship on either side of the threshold. 'Mesolithic specialists emphasize adaptation to the natural environment, whilst those who study the Neolithic are more often concerned with ideology and social relations' (Bradley, 1997:13). Thus 'in the literature as a whole, successful farmers have social relations with one another, while huntergatherers have ecological relations with hazelnuts' (Bradley, 1984:11). However, the transition is being rethought on the basis of both empirical and theoretical evidence. While there is still heated debate about many of these issues, three trends are highlighted here. One is the regional variability which emerges when smaller scales of analysis are used. Second, empirical evidence also breaks down the idea of a clear temporal boundary - showing, for example, intensive use of plants in the Mesolithic (Zvelebil, 1994) and late survival of mobility in Britain. These contribute to a narrative that is more fragmentary in space and time, and show that settlement, subsistence and ceremonial changes need not occur together, nor in predetermined directions. Thus the empirical

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evidence increasingly illustrates the limitations of deterministic evolutionary overviews; these are histories 'framed by contingency rather than by inevitable process' (Whittle, 1996: 369). Third, the social emphasis in interpretation itself not a monolithic entity - occurs in such a context. Some social explanations see the Mesolithic-Neolithic transition as significant, but consider it first a matter of changing worldviews rather than simply a subsistence change. Others emphasize continuities between hunter-gatherer and agricultural ways of seeing. The authors cited in this section would disagree about many aspects of the transition. It is not my intention to review in detail, much less attempt to resolve, these complex debates. Rather, in looking at examples - albeit perhaps contradictory ones - of how domestication is being reconceptualized in terms of its social dimensions, I hope to show how this extends to cultural landscape studies generally. In Chapter 2 we saw considerable variability in the palaeoecological evidence for associated environmental transformations in different parts of the world. Archaeological evidence has shown what Gosden refers to as three Neolithics even within the Near East/European sphere, let alone the Far East, New Guinea or Mesoamerican variations. The Near East and south-east Europe built villages, often of mud brick, and these relatively dense communities struggled with tensions between the genders and the fear of death. Central Europeans built large longhouses in clearings in the forests and emphasized transitions between the internal domesticity of the house and external natural forces contained within the forest. Western and northern European communities adopted the novel resources of farming late and incorporated these gradually within traditional Mesolithic practices. The major effect of farming was to extend the range of communities, from a concentration on coastal marine resources to cultivation of plots inland. In these areas there was no sudden adoption of sedentism, but a gradual reduction of mobility over a millennium or more as the garden plots became increasingly important to life. (Gosden, 1994:159)

For Hodder (1990) this variability is underpinned by a shared symbolic and social process in which the culture/nature duality is a central opposition. Separation and control of the wild,

agrios, is the means of accruing social and cultural prestige. This process begins in the Palaeolithic with the bringing of aspects of the wild, such as fire, into the cultural domain (pp. 287-9). Categories such as 'death' or 'fire', Hodder emphasizes, are not inherently wild, but are categorized and defined as such by social processes, the particular expression of which varies in space and time. By the Neolithic the domus, the cultural, becomes associated with the house and the hearth as both symbolic focus and focus of domestic production. The development of agriculture is thus understood as a conceptual 'culturing of the wild' (Hodder, 1990: 86). In contrast, Bradley reads the Mesolithic archaeological record as showing the natural world 'as a creative principle rather than a source of danger' (1997: 16). However, social and conceptual factors are also to the fore in this framework. In his elaboration of domestication as a state of mind, Bradley shows that Mesolithic ritual in Europe emphasized the natural world through features such as use of red ochre, deposition of antlers with the dead, and food remains in funerary assemblages. The gradual acceptance of ownership of resources and the building of monuments is related, then, to a breakdown in such thinking and the adoption of new beliefs. This also may help to explain why, far from the adoption of farming being an automatic process, some hunter-gatherers resisted it: In a world in which human identity was not felt to lie outside nature - a world in which natural places could take on a special significance monuments would have little part to play ... Until that belief system lost its force, domestication may have been literally unthinkable. (Bradley, 1997:16)

In a related but again quite different argument, Sherratt (1995: 248) argues that megaliths were 'a set of monumentalised messages', part of the 'cultural rhetoric' by which Neolithic groups sought to convert indigenous foragers, concentrated in coastal areas of north-west Europe, to a Neolithic way of life. What these workers share, then, is a thinking about farming as 'a total package of economic, social and ideological practices ... The phenomenon of

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megalithism is associated not with a particular kind of economy, but rather with a social process in space' (Sherratt, 1995: 257, 258). In using the megalithic example it is not my intention to imply that the most salient or visible social landscapes are sacred ones. Nor do I want to perpetuate the notion of an ideological superstructure on an economic base. Indeed, I have tried to refer to work which challenges the basis and separation of those very categories. Nevertheless, it is a fact of archaeological life that the debates of interest here are most developed in the context of a landscape dominated by long-lived symbolic monuments. As Barrett reminds us, the considerable time and labour expended in ritual and ceremonial structures was invested in long-term projects which extended over some two to three millennia and the investment must have been only a fraction of the total energy reserves demanded by more mundane, everyday activities ... When they are expressed as a fraction of the lived allocation of time and space, and when they are set against the more densely occupied background of cultivation plots, pasturage and woodland, then ritual and ceremonial activities begin to appear almost marginal. (Barrett, 1994:132)

It is important to stress that these everyday landscapes are just as social, even if the outcome of habitual activity or 'unthought practice'. 'Landscapes are social products, but are not first and foremost symbolic constructs or landscapes of the mind' (Gosden, 1994: 81). A number of different examples could be included here. Gosden (1989) characterizes Melanesia as a 'landscape of debt', in which the demands of reciprocal gift exchange have resulted in a distinctive settlement pattern and sites for specialized production. Habitual patterns of inter-island trade in the Arawe islands, Papua New Guinea, stimulated Gosden and Pavlides to put forward the notion of seascape in interaction with landscape (Gosden and Pavlides, 1994). Landscapes of many Polynesian islands can be understood as landscapes of 'chiefly privilege', with investments in irrigation and places of elite residence (Bayliss-Smith and Golson, 1999). The differential preservation of archaeological remains is influential here. The

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persistence and durability of monuments in the landscape leads to several biases, including foci on landscapes of prestige rather than everyday landscapes, and on male wealth and power (Mulk and Bayliss-Smith, 1999) (Figure 4.3a, b). There is an important counterpoint to this discussion in studies of hunter-gatherer worldviews and their relationship to patterns of land use. Discussion of the relevance or otherwise of the Mesolithic-Neolithic boundary in Europe is paralleled by the spatial and conceptual boundary between Australian hunter-gatherers and New Guinea agriculturalists (Gosden and Head, 1999). Rather than a clear dichotomy and parallel patterns of subsistence, attachment to land and ceremony, considerable variability is indicated. Aboriginal groups along the River Murray, in south-eastern Australia, used cemeteries 'as one of the symbols validating corporate ownership of that territory' (Pardoe, 1988: 14). Fire was used by hunter-gatherers not just for economic purposes but to bring landscapes into the human realm (Head, 1994b). New Guinea highlanders express attachment to land in terms of lines of power (Ballard, 1994) which have similarities to Aboriginal Dreaming tracks. The idea that a particularly integrated worldview may have been the reason for the non-adoption of agriculture in certain areas has also been explored by Chase (1989). In an important contribution to a broader conceptualization of domestication, Chase distinguished between domus (a hearth-based area of exploitation), domiculture (localized packages of interaction between people and resources) and domain (following anthropologist Stanner's work, the geographical area of legitimized use in Aboriginal society). This built on a study of Aboriginal-plant interactions in Cape York Peninsula (Hynes and Chase, 1982), in which people's conceptual stance towards plants is intimately related to their impacts on the vegetative landscape. There are many problems and ongoing questions raised by these studies. What are the methodological issues involved in reading people's conceptualization of the world from the biased and fragmentary evidence of the archaeological record? In rendering domesti-

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FIGURE 4.3 (a) Cultural landscape in material form, gendered and divided according to its prestige or everyday purpose, (b) The cognitive landscape, as originally constructed and as surviving or reconstructed Source: Mulk and Bayliss-Smith (1999: figures 24.2, 24.3). By permission of Taylor & Francis Books Ltd

cation as a social as well as an ecological process, are researchers not simply reinforcing dualisms of culture / nature and tame/wild rather than considering that prehistoric people may have conceptualized things in non-dualistic ways? To what extent does domestication as socially conceived simply reinforce its determining role in the trajectory of human history? We cannot answer those questions here but it is important to acknowledge them. Much of this chapter, indeed much of this book, is about the past. The long-term perspective has provided important insights. Cultural landscapes are not the preserve of sedentary or urban societies. People have attached meaning to their landscapes, and shaped them both consciously and unconsciously, throughout human history. Those meanings have been contested, and have included values placed on remembering the

past. Gosden and Lock comment on the reluctance of archaeologists to ascribe historical consciousness to the peoples being studied, and illustrate that consciousness for the prehistoric people living around the Ridgeway in south Oxfordshire, southern England (Gosden and Lock, 1998). The White Horse at Uffington, one of the chalk-cut figures of southern England, is possibly as old as 3000 years (Illustration 4.4). Chalk figures disappear if they are not cleaned every 5-10 years; the White Horse is argued to have had some historical power in the landscape throughout a very long period, although the social context of that power may have changed considerably (Gosden and Lock, 1998). The evidence we now have of those pasts is fragmentary and our interpretation of it problematic; close attention to the production of knowledge about the past is required. In Part IV we will consider the

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ILLUSTRATION 4.4 The White Horse of Uffington (by permission of Atmosphere Postcards)

implications of the transformation of these patchwork pasts into heritage to be valued in the present and protected in the future. However, none of that should be read as implying that cultural landscapes are only about the past. Rather, it gives us some tools for critical self-consciousness about the landscapes being shaped today. For both prehistoric people and ourselves, 'in daily life there is

always a tension between the inheritance from the past, the intentions of the present and the possibilities held by the future' (Gosden and Lock, 1998: 4). Some examples of these 'new' landscapes, their biophysical creation and the attribution of meanings are discussed in the second half of the book. The question of knowledge production about the future is a topic of the next chapter.

Production of knowledge and its policy implications

5.0 Chapter summary This chapter examines the production of knowledge about long-term environmental change and human interactions, and considers the policy implications of particular understandings. It starts with the conceptualization of culture in global change research, focusing on two elements of Proctor's (1998) critique; first, the myth that culture is separable from other human dimensions and can be analysed independently; second, the myth of externality, that research is not itself a cultural process. The example of climate change illustrates several issues in the cultural production of knowledge: internationalization of research and the use of analogy in applying the long-term record. Two different critiques of the narratives of deforestation from Africa and India are used to illustrate both the production of knowledge and the policy implications. A final example takes the discourse of cultural landscape itself, and examines its application in Norwegian landscape administration.

5.1 Researching culture and the culture of research How do we produce knowledge about longterm environmental change and human

interactions? Since the periods of greatest interest are the deep past, thence projecting towards the future, there is no ultimate test for many competing hypotheses. There will always be heavy reliance on analogical reasoning. This is not to say there is no place for deductive approaches; indeed, in Chapter 2 we saw a number of examples of them in use. I also argued that the trend within much palaeoecological research towards use of multiple scales of analysis, in both space and time, is increasing the application of deductive approaches. Whether through induction or deduction, and usually through a combination, we construct stories about the past, about the present state of the world environment when seen within a long-term perspective, and about possible futures. In this chapter we shall focus on the process of that story-telling, although not to argue that it should not be happening or that there is a single correct story. Rather, we want to understand something about science as a social and cultural process, and the implications that has for our understanding of environmental change. The examples used here are mostly from the 'global environmental change' literature, which looks most at the present and projected futures. We will also look for points of connection with the global environmental past, although there is not a comparable body of critique in that direction.

THEORIZING CULTURAL PROCESSES IN GLOBAL CHANGE RESEARCH

Two examples are used to analyse this production of knowledge: climate change and forests. Research into environmental change and human dimensions is having a variety of inputs into policy. It is one thing for academic researchers to recognize cultural landscapes as products of a complex interplay between social process and materiality, as having shifting and multiple meanings, and as being reworked over time. To what extent can government bodies charged with the management of such landscapes deal with this dynamism and complexity? The first requirement is a recognition that any cultural landscape is a discourse materialized (Schein, 1997). We can then go on to explore 'how discourse matters in the reconstitution of material ecologies' (Robbins, 1998: 69).

5.2 Theorizing cultural processes in global change research It is hard to imagine a project in which it is more important to have the best possible understandings - both theoretical and empirical - of both 'culture' and the 'environment' than global environmental change. Yet Proctor (1998) argues that culture as conceptualized in most research into the human dimensions of global environmental change is a vague concept offering no analytical clarity. He critiques three mistaken assumptions about culture found in this research (p. 228): • • •

separability: that culture can be disentangled from and analysed independently of other human dimensions; methodological individualism: that culture is best understood at the level of the individual person; externality: that research is not itself a cultural process.

In Chapter 4 we discussed the recent retheorization of cultural processes in terms of meanings shared between various, often overlapping, human groups. While not ignoring the individual person, this work shows many scales of agency, up to global ones. For Proctor,

67

the operative question should not be 'how important culture is relative to other dimensions, but rather: what kinds of shared meanings are connected with the full range of human practices associated with global environmental change?' (Proctor, 1998: 239). In this chapter we shall revisit briefly the notion of separability, and then consider the research process itself in some detail. Proctor reviewed three major research agenda statements on the human dimensions of global environmental change to examine their engagement with culture. The US National Research Council study illustrates, for example, the notion of separability. It presents culture, in terms primarily of attitudes and beliefs, as one of five human driving forces that can be analysed separately from other human dimensions (Figure 5.la). Drawing on the critical rethinking of culture that we discussed in Chapter 4, Proctor argues instead that we should understand 'that cultural processes of meaning are implicated in all relevant human practices' (1998: 239), as illustrated in Figure 5.1b. (Proctor does not necessarily give primacy to cultural process alone, noting that other overarching contexts, such as political factors, could also apply to all 'human driving forces' (p. 232). Rather, it is the analytical separation of culture that he is challenging.) There are important parallels between the issues of separating culture from other human driving forces, and separating humans from other parts of ecosystems, as discussed in Chapter 3. An important dimension of culture is the research process itself. Indeed, in the environmental change arena, science has been crucial to how we conceptualize change and construct problems. We could not even imagine, for example, an ozone hole over Antarctica without drawing on an array of scientific research dependent on high technology. General circulation models (GCMs), the basis of future climate and impacts scenarios, are complex representations of global climate systems possible because of the ongoing revolution in information processing, integrating empirical measurements and remotely sensed information. In projections both forward and backward in time, we are becoming used to

PRODUCTION OF KNOWLEDGE AND ITS POLICY IMPLICATIONS

FIGURE 5.1 Human driving forces of global environmental change noted in US National Research Council study, with (a) culture separated analytically, and linked primarily to attitudes and beliefs. Proctor suggests instead (b), all five driving forces involve a significant cultural context. Solid arrows denote net effects of driving forces on global environmental change; dashed arrows indicate possible independent effects Source: Adapted from Proctor (1998: figure 1)

(a)

(b)

more pixellated views of the Earth (e.g. Figure 5.2). There is much argument about the accuracy and validity of various reconstructions, models and predictions. There is less consideration of the ways in which the models are themselves cultural constructs, and thus implicated in the transfer of meanings about the environment. It is not that the scientific models and ensuing knowledge are empty of culture and politics, but that they are impregnated with them without even recognizing it, let alone the implications. Existing cultural and institutional structures are by default taken as immanent and natural. (Shackley and Wynne, 1995:124)

Not only the scientific research into environmental change, but even the human dimensions research sees itself as external to the objects of inquiry (Proctor, 1998) (Figure 5.3a). Thus, when culturally based attitudes, beliefs, and so forth are mentioned as important filters in the ways people perceive and respond to global environmental change, there is no concession that the cultural filters of the analyst or the analyst's scientific tradition may play any role. (Proctor, 1998:234) An important part of good research, then, is to consider its positionality, to consider it as part of the object of inquiry (Figure 5.3b). How can science best understand its own cultural baggage, and the influence of that

THEORIZING CULTURAL PROCESSES IN GLOBAL CHANGE RESEARCH

69

Image Not Available

FIGURE 5.2 July temperatures (°C) 18,000 years ago, 9000 years ago and at present: an example of the pixellated view of the world Source: Huggett (1997: figure 4.4, p. 105). By permission of Taylor & Francis Books Ltd

baggage on the articulation and solving of problems? Further to the point made in Chapter 4 about the importance of rigorous attention to the conditions of knowledge production, the

next two sections consider the issues of climate change and forest policy within the frameworks of the social construction of scientific knowledge (Demeritt, 1996,1998; Wynne, 1994).

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PRODUCTION OF KNOWLEDGE AND ITS POLICY IMPLICATIONS

( HDGEC research !

I Human

environmental

GEC research

whether the Antarctic ice sheet melted 3 million years ago take on a heightened degree of relevance (Sugden, 1996). Conscious of enhanced funding opportunities, as well as genuinely believing in its importance, many palaeoecologists have positioned their recent research in terms of providing a long-term and/or analogical perspective on contemporary and future problems (e.g. Bishop, 1988), but rarely in a way that is explicitly articulated. A collection of overlapping discourses can be identified in expert and public debates over climate change (Thompson and Rayner, 1998). In this example we look at two aspects, the internationalization of science and the use of analogues. For an overview of key questions in social science research about climate change, see Box 5.1. 5.3.1 Internationalization of research

(b)

FIGURE 5.3 Human dimensions of global environmental change (HDGEC) research as (a) external to the objects of inquiry (noted by dotted arrows), and (b) included as an object of inquiry in the context of global environmental change research Source: Adapted from Proctor (1998: figure 3, p. 235)

Climate change research is increasingly global in scope, involving international collaborations, utilizing large-scale quantitative techniques and having inputs into policy (Jasanoff and Wynne, 1998). While coordination is at the international level, most funding and operations are carried out at the national level (Ehlers, 1999). Jasanoff and Wynne ask four questions about the context of this knowledge production that, they argue, are best answered by constructivist policy analysis: •

5.3 Climate change The aspect of global environmental change most firmly lodged in the imaginations of many in the West, including policy-makers, is the issue of climate change, in particular whether industrial activity is exacerbating a trend towards global warming. Modelling and prediction are centred on present and future timescales. However, the deep past section of the long-term record has been mined to provide indications of what the 'normal' rate and directions of change might be, and to provide analogies for a variety of future scenarios. Within this cultural and intellectual climate, apparently arcane debates such as

•

• •

How do scientists and their societies identify and delimit distinct problems related to climate change that are considered amenable to scientific resolution? How do scientists come to know particular facts and causal relationships regarding climate change and to persuade others that their knowledge is credible? How do conflicts over risk arise, and how are responses to them handled in a world of conflicting and plural political interests? How do human societies and their designated policy actors draw upon scientific knowledge to justify collective action on a worldwide scale? (Jasanoff and Wynne, 1998: 5-6)

CLIMATE CHANGE 71

Box 5.1 Key questions in social science knowledge about climate change A range of answers to these questions are canvassed in the four-volume study Human Choice and Climate Change (Rayner and Malone, 1998a). • How do scientists choose to study climate change? How do they form a scientific consensus? • How do people decide that climate change is worthy of attention? • How do people attribute blame for climate change and choose solutions? • How do people choose whom to believe about climate change and at what level of risk do they or should they choose to act? • How do people and institutions mobilize support for (or against) policy action on climate change? The internationalization of disciplines, institutions, resources and methodologies poses many challenges (including the deciphering of a bewildering array of acronyms!). One example is the International GeosphereBiosphere Programme (IGBP), which 'offers an instructive study in the joint formation of an international institution and the framing of global scientific knowledge' (Jasanoff and Wynne, 57). In turn, the IGBP is one of four global environmental change research programmes identified by the International Council of Scientific Unions (Table 5.1). Globalization of knowledge implies conceptualization of the Earth as a system, providing a basis for integration of disparate data. This privileges some disciplines and approaches over others, particularly favouring those which are 'more tractable at global levels of representation', such as remote sensing (p. 49). Thus the present can be given more weight than the past, and physical processes than biological parameters. In general, human dimensions research is more local and regional in scale than scientific research (Ehlers, 1999). While some generalizations about human

• What is the relationship between resource management choices and climate change? • How do governments establish where climate change stands in relation to other political priorities? How do they choose the climate change issues around which to formulate goals? • How are climate change policy instruments chosen? • Why and how did the international community choose to address climate change? • How do societies select technologies that cause, mitigate or assist adaptation to climate change? • How can research on social or collective action be useful to the global climate change debate? Source: Rayner and Malone (1998b: 72)

impacts can be made at the global scale, useful strategies and solutions need more localized expression. In the context of the IGBP, the coordination of research efforts and the standardization of data sets are encouraged. The latter requires agreements on classification of parameters, for example categories of vegetation cover. The potential loss of local ecological sense (for example, in lumping diverse communities into a savanna biome) in the name of a global overview raises important questions about appropriate scales of analysis. In an institutional sense the IGBP is divided into six core projects, each operating under a Scientific Steering Committee. Research is classified, under a three-tier system, into 'core research', 'national or regional research' and 'relevant research' (Jasanoff and Wynne, 1998: 58). Researchers are encouraged to acknowledge affiliation with IGBP in publications; this is seen by Jasanoff and Wynne as a conscious strategy of visibility-raising and community-building. While the apparently hierarchical structure could militate against such a community, they argue that extensive

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PRODUCTION OF KNOWLEDGE AND ITS POLICY IMPLICATIONS

TABLE 5.1 International global environmental change programmes Programme

Research focus

World Climate Research Programme (WCRP)

The physical climate system, comprising the dynamics of atmosphere, oceans, land surface and ice sheets

International Geosphere Biosphere Programme (IGBP)

The global interactions between living and non-living processes, that together underpin the habitability and productivity of our planet

International Human Dimensions Programme on Global Environmental Change (IHDP)

The interactions between human society and its environment on a planetary scale

Diversitas

The structure and function of biological diversity, covering plant, animal and microbial life, on land, in fresh water and at sea

Source: Ehlers (1999)

consultation has enhanced participation in the IGBP. For Jasanoff and Wynne, these 'supranational science programs' provide important study sites for the production of scientific knowledge, 'because their authority is still emergent and the processes through which order is being created are less thoroughly naturalized or socialized than in most national programs' (p. 48). As knowledge grows, these processes of knowledge production will become less visible because they appear more natural, unless highlighted through controversy or conflict. 5.3.2 The use of analogy

Only rarely is the use of analogy in climate change research - indeed, in any use of the long-term environmental record - addressed explicitly. Yet its use is frequent; it is one of the most naturalized parts of the knowledge production process. It is useful, then, to examine one example where it has been critically examined (Meyer et al., 1998). Meyer et al. examine a number of different types of

analogue; we will look at the most long-term, the use of prehistory. While prehistoric analogues are likely to be less plausible than ones closely connected in time, the examples used are often the most dramatic ones, and they have a particularly strong pull on the public imagination. Using three examples, Meyer et al. show that the process of analogical reasoning is problematic, to say the least. The examples they use are the collapse of civilizations in the Near East and the Aegean around 2200 BC, the collapse of New Kingdom Egypt around 1100 BC, and the Classic Lowland Maya collapse between AD 800 and AD 1000. Although climatic desiccation, Nile failure and climate change respectively have been implicated by a number of researchers, Meyer et al. argue that in none of these examples can climate be considered causal. This is not just a matter of establishing clearer spatial or temporal correlations, or of separating anthropogenic and other processes in the palaeoecological or archaeological records, although these aspects are relevant. Rather, to reiterate points made in Chapters 2 and 4, it is

RETHINKING DEFORESTATION

crucial to problematize the relationship between different aspects of social and climatic processes: Their clearest and most useful lesson is that the significance and consequences of a climate event, once documented, are not direct functions of its physical characteristics. The consequences, rather, vary with the ways in which a society has organized its relations to its resource base, its relations with other societies, and the relations among its members. A climate event is not a sufficient cause for a societal collapse if the failure of the society to deal adequately with it has not been accounted for. (Meyer et al, 1998: 237)

This is not to argue that studying the past is useless or that climate change is trivial - quite the opposite. Rather, it is to emphasize that the usefulness of the past is to help us understand how climate was experienced socially in different contexts. The consequences of a shift in climate are not calculable from the physical dimensions of the shift alone, but require attention to the human dimensions through which they are experienced: to the ways in which humans organize their relations to the biophysical environment and to each other. (Meyer et al, 1998:275)

5.4 Rethinking deforestation The question of forest loss, particularly in tropical latitudes, is a key one in many debates related to global environmental change. Since

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land-use pressures are the key driving force in projected change within rainforest and savanna biomes (Table 3.2, p. 44), large-scale forest destruction has become a powerful symbol of the environmental problems that many of us understand to beset the Earth. Measures of forest cover are crucial elements in regional and global climate modelling, for example through attempts to identify albedo changes and estimate anthropogenic CO2 emissions. Within this context, forest loss in many developing countries is widely portrayed as rapid, recent and a function of population growth. We look here at critiques of these viewpoints from West Africa and India, each undertaken within the framework of a socially oriented political ecology. The forests at issue in West Africa lie in the forest-savanna mosaic or 'transition' zone along the northern fringe of the forest zone between Sierra Leone and Nigeria. An influential NASA study of anthropogenic deforestation depicts forest loss of between 69 and 96 per cent in the countries of West Africa over the twentieth century (Figure 5.4). In a detailed study of Kissidougou prefecture in Guinea (Fairhead and Leach, 1996) and an overview of West Africa generally (Fairhead and Leach, 1998), Fairhead and Leach challenge this view. Their critique is made both on empirical grounds and via a re-reading of the understandings of forest change held by different actors in the landscape. 250km

Image Not Available

NIGERIA BENIN TOGO

COTE D'lVOIRE |

Derived savanna. Long| term conversion to crops, savanna and relic forest

GHANA

Deforestation of closed forest. Replacement by tree and field crops and/or secondary regrowth

FIGURE 5.4 Schematic map of anthropogenic vegetation changes in West Africa during the twentieth century, as described in an influential NASA study and critiqued by Fairhead and Leach (1998) Source: Fairhead and Leach (1998: map 1.1) By permission of Taylor & Francis Books Ltd

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PRODUCTION OF KNOWLEDGE AND ITS POLICY IMPLICATIONS

The empirical grounds involve a detailed study of historical sources, comprising aerial photographs and satellite imagery over different periods, documentary evidence and oral histories. In the case of Kissidougou the photographic data indicate an increase in forest cover in some places and stability in others (e.g. Figure 5.5). The scale of these analyses is such that 'they also show more micro-level dynamics of forest gain and loss. In this they illustrate the dynamic nature of vegetation patterns and the non-unilinear nature of vegetation change' (Fairhead and Leach, 1996: 63). The finding of forest advance is confirmed by the other data sets for Kissidougou. For West Africa generally, Fairhead and Leach argue that twentieth-century deforestation is only about one-third of that suggested by most estimates in broad circulation (Table 5.2). One reason for previous overestimates, they argue, was that the early twentieth-century baseline of most studies was a high point in forest cover, with much recent forest regrowth over lands which had previously been farmed for centuries.

The question of appropriate baselines is just one of the methodological issues that must be dealt with in this type of study. For example, how is forest defined and classified within different sources, and how compatible are they? What is the spatial and spectral resolution of different types of remotely sensed data? There are, however, relatively well-established procedures for resolving those issues and others within an empirical framework. Of more interest here is the broader dilemma in which Fairhead and Leach found themselves: On the one hand we are dealing with landscape and its history as representation, but on the other hand we are attempting to reveal its empirical 'reality', facts or events. Very often it is the same sources and data sets which must be used for both. (1996:15-16)

They do not attempt to escape the ambiguities of this position, nor do they apologize for it. Thus this study provides an example of the type of 'situated knowledge' advocated by Haraway and discussed in Chapter 4.

Image Not Available

Kilometres SPOT satellite images taken 12/1/89

Kilometres SPOT satellite images taken 9/3/92

Kilometres SPOT satellite images taken 12/1/89 and 17/1/92

Forest of secondary forest thicket present in both 1952 and 1992 Forest or secondary forest thicket gained since 1952 W'fh Forest or secondary forest thicket lost since 1952 i j Savanna or clearing

FIGURE 5.5 Vegetation change in the localities of Toly, Fondambadou and Bamba from 1952 aerial photographs and 1989/92 SPOT satellite images Source: Fairhead and Leach (1996: figure 2.2, p. 62). By permission of Cambridge University Press

RETHINKING DEFORESTATION

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TABLE 5.2 Fairhead and Leach's (1998) suggested revisions to deforestation estimates since 1900 Country

Orthodox estimate

Forest area lost

of forest area lost

according to World

Suggested revision

Conservation Monitoring Centre Cote d'lvoire

13

20.2

4.3-5.3

Liberia

4-4.5

5.5

Ghana

12.9

Togo

7 0.7 0

Sierra Leone

0,8-5

1.6 1.7 6.7

1.3 3.9 0 0 c.O

Total

25.5-30.2

48.6

9.5-10.5

Benin

a

Figures are in millions of hectares.The World Conservation Monitoring Centre estimates are of forest loss from an undated 'origin' forest cover and are extraordinarily high compared with any other available source. Hence they are presented separately from other orthodox estimates

The Western scientific reading of the Kissidougou landscape as degraded is grounded, it is argued, in a thinking about pristine forest as a baseline of untouched nature against which human impacts can be measured. In contrast, the rural inhabitants of Kissidougou associate forest with a 'settled' rather than a 'natural' state. It is not only human life that has a settled existence in the forest; so too do land spirits and termites. Where the scientists see the savanna as a cultural artefact, and a degraded one at that, it has complex resonances for the local people, associated with vagrant, mobile and impermanent lifestyles (Fairhead and Leach, 1996: 6). The idea, and materiality, of forest expansion as a human artefact is seen in the range of practices used by people in West Africa to foster forests. These include reconversion of savanna into secondary forest by fire exclusion; introduction of preferred trees; encouragement of trees in fallow fields; encouragement of germination of pioneer species and protection of developing forest; and use of termites for soil improvement (Fairhead and Leach, 1996: 289-91). If the predominant reading of deforestation is so inaccurate, how has it been maintained for so long and become so powerful? This issue is dealt with at length by Fairhead and Leach (1996: ch. 9; 1998: ch. 8), and takes us back to the conditions of knowledge production discussed earlier in this chapter. Particularly powerful

was ecological thinking influenced by the Clementsian view of forest as the natural vegetation climax. A convergence of systems thinking in ecology and anthropology contributed to the invocation of 'an image of past society in harmony with a forested environment, resembling the "functional equilibrium" posited in certain cultural ecology studies' (Fairhead and Leach, 1996:30). The narratives stemming from such views depend on - and expose - the field of western imagination and stereotyped images concerning African society ... [which] is seen ... in terms of a traditional 'functional order' once harmoniously integrated with 'natural' vegetation, and African farming, land and resource-use practices [which] degrade or are at best benign to the original vegetation. (Fairhead and Leach, 1996:273)

Population growth is read as disrupting this natural order and precipitating land degradation. It follows that degradation can be prevented only by social organization involving interventionist regulation and authority, and-denial of local knowledge. The narrative has been reworked in complex ways, it is argued, through colonial forest administrations, scientific institutions, international aid agencies, environmental groups and postcolonial administrations. In providing this brief rendering of a complex and nuanced set of studies, it is important to emphasize that these authors are not denying that deforestation has occurred at

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PRODUCTION OF KNOWLEDGE AND ITS POLICY IMPLICATIONS

certain times and places, nor that major deforestation is linked in some places to timber extraction, mining, commercial plantations and farming. The access of the Hyundai Corporation to 300,000 ha of boreal forest in the Bikin river basin in Russia, or of a French logging company to 800,000 ha in Cameroon (Blaikie, 1996), are of different orders of magnitude. It is precisely this attention to scale in understanding the operating mechanisms and processes, as opposed to just the impacts per se, that is so important. Nor are Fairhead and Leach arguing for reduced development aid. Rather, they stress that effective policy formulation requires clear problem identification. Further, in illustrating the links between readings of the landscape and relations of power, they show the range of ways by which local people such as the Kissidougou inhabitants, and their knowledge base, have been disempowered. The practical implications of this re-reading of the problem are suggested to include (1) dismantling the dichotomy between preserving 'natural' trees and planting new ones from nurseries; (2) recognition of local concepts of tree tenure; and (3) recognizing people's historical experiences of and relationships with currently forested land which is the subject of conservation interest (Fairhead and Leach, 1998: ch. 9). In turn, these and similar studies are contributing to the rethinking of ecological theory, as discussed in Chapter 3. A useful comparison to this example is provided by Robbins's (1998) analysis of forest discourse in India. Some aspects of the context are the same: understanding of deforestation as driven largely by population pressure; and afforestation programmes promoted in the context of international concern over global environmental change. Robbins is also conscious of the methodological dilemma experienced by Fairhead and Leach: 'how does an analysis of human/ environment interaction proceed if it wishes to embrace claims to the historicity of scientific categories, including those of ecological science, while retaining the "observational language" of ecology that might be abandoned in "theoretical anarchism"?' (Robbins, 1998: 71). Robbins wants to understand, for example, how categories

matter in material circumstances. The specifics of his study are quite the opposite of the West African one. In Rajasthan, forest cover is expanding on paper, as constructed discursively by official estimates, while dwindling on the ground. Official Forest Department definitions of forest in Rajasthan are linked to the idea of enclosed reserves and vegetation dominated by trees. Local experience and categorization is more diverse, but includes open-canopy areas and those subject to multiple use. While dramatic increases in forest cover can be demonstrated in the past few decades, these are mostly plantations of exogenous species. At the same time, traditional community forestpastures (orans) are being lost, to both the plough and Forest Department plantation schemes, partly because of their designation as 'waste' land. By introducing exogenous species and limiting the range of local species, the Forest Department's intervention is changing the balance not only of tree cover in village lands but of whole ecological communities. Additionally, these new forest forms integrate poorly with local production systems and create resource gaps for village producers. (Robbins, 1998: 77)

Traditional uses of forest-pastures vary throughout the year, encompassing use of minor tree products, understorey grazing and browsing, and tree browse in the dry season. This usage is patchy in both space and time. 'The establishment of monolithic forests for the sole goal of tree cover production is therefore discordant with the human ecology of the region' (p. 78). As in the West African case study, there are implications here for discussions of global environmental change. Like Fairhead and Leach, Robbins emphasizes the role of officials, bureaucracies and other institutions in the production of knowledge about the environment and environmental change. The multiple processes involved in the discursive and material construction of 'forests' affect not just the supposedly empirical issue of estimating forest cover. They also 'draw into question the unproblematic linkage of land use to land cover in geographic studies and models

CULTURAL LANDSCAPES AS 'DISCOURSE MATERIALIZED'

77

The meanings are diverse but also overlap (Table 5.3), and reflect both physical traces of human activity and beliefs associated with landscapes. Some documents were found to distinguish between 'cultural' and 'urban' landscapes, implying that the former was rural. Of particular interest is the sudden appearance in the early 1990s of the concept of 'the cultural landscape of agriculture' in documents from the Department of Agriculture (Jones and Daugstad, 1997: 272-3). This term is used to include the present-day productive agricultural areas, as well as traces of earlier 5.5 Cultural landscapes as'discourse agriculture and remnants of natural vegetation adjoining farmland. 'There are indications that materialized' the concept has arisen because "cultural landThe examples above relate to discourses about scape" is seen to be positively value-laden at a 'forest'. This one is the discourse of 'cultural time when modern agriculture has met landscape' itself, and its application in increasing criticism for overproduction and Norwegian and Nordic landscape adminis- environmentally destructive practices' (p. 273). This agricultural discourse is one of four tration (Jones and Daugstad, 1997). The concept of cultural landscape has a long history of use identified by Jones and Daugstad, as different among Nordic geographers, examples of which groups interpret the meanings of cultural landwere referred to in Chapter 2 (Birks et al, 1988). It scape in their own way while competing for has gained currency in different arenas in recent influence (Table 5.4). The nature conservation decades with concerns over the effects of urban discourse focuses on human-influenced or expansion on the surrounding countryside. By semi-natural ecosystems considered 'especially the late 1980s the Norwegian Departments of valuable' for biodiversity. The cultural heritage both the Environment and Agriculture used the sector uses the classical geographical sense of concept, and the Directorate for Cultural landscapes as modified by human activity, with Heritage established a Landscape Department an emphasis on ancient monuments and (Jones and Daugstad, 1997: 268). Increasing historical buildings. There is consciousness here availability of funds for consulting and research of the interaction between the built and the in the field led to 'cultural landscape' becoming a mental landscapes. In the planning area the market opportunity, an academic battleground influence of architects and landscape architects was dominant. The landscape could be ordered and a media catchphrase. Jones and Daugstad analysed '46 documents, through better siting of constructions, planting published between 1987 and 1993, which dealt of green areas and maintenance of existing with or had relevance for the management of vegetation. Thus 'the cultural landscape provides an the cultural landscape' (1997:269). The aim was not to prescribe a correct usage, but to 'identify arena in which different interest groups and discuss problems arising from poorly struggle to influence the formation of our defined, diverging or contradictory use of physical surroundings, exemplified in the concepts in administrative and applied conflicts that often arise between the research documents dealing with the cultural production of economic goods and the landscape in Norway and Norden' (p. 268). The production of environmental goods' (Jones and documents included Acts of Parliament and Daugstad, 1997: 280). Jones and Daugstad information brochures, as well as policy docu- argue that there are positive possibilities in this ments from organizations such as those dialogue: for example, the focus on processes of environmental change and the human role, and mentioned above. of global change' (Robbins, 1998: 82). Others have also argued that an understanding of the human dimension is lacking in conservation and management in the developing world more generally (Saberwal and Kothari, 1996). The most problematic aspect seems to be the assumption that 'all forms of human resource use lead to resource depletion and habitat degradation' (Saberwal and Kothari, 1996: 1329). This has implications both for training of conservation biology professionals and for policy.

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TABLE 5.3 Summary of meanings given to the term 'cultural landscape' and related concepts in Norwegian and Nordic policy and applied research documents, 1987-93 The Norwegian terms are given in brackets, 1. Cultural landscape (kulturlandskap) (a) Areal category (!) cultural landscape v. natural landscape (ii) cultural landscape v. urban landscape (b) Physical traces of human activity (t) chronological process of landscape development leaving visible traces of the past (c) Selected elements in the landscape (i) threatened cultural monuments or semi-natural vegetation (d) Object of management (!) natural and cultural heritage (ii) agrarian landscapes (e) Beliefs and traditions associated with the landscape (i) cultural meanings attached to the landscape (ii) memories, myths, religions and other beliefs (iii) identity 2. The cultural landscape of agriculture (jordbrukets kulturlandskap) Comprises: (a) productive farmland (b) adjoining natural or semi-natural biotopes (c) cultural monuments (d) areas earlier used for agriculture 3. Rural landscape (bygdelandskap) (a) Landscape of the countryside (rarely used) 4. Everyday landscape (hverdagslandskap) (a) Ordinary, not especially valuable landscapes, against which valued landscapes can be contrasted (b) Ordinary landscapes which require environmental consideration 5. Traditional and modern landscapes (a) Traditional landscapes - old cultural landscapes with cultural-historical variation and/or botanical diversity, worthy of conservation (b) Modern landscapes = production landscapes, productive for agriculture 6. Landscape prospect or scenery (tandskapsbilde) (a) Aesthetically pleasing landscape (b) Landscape producing visual experience due to variation, cultural heritage, environmental goods or active farming

Source: After Jones and Daugstad (1997:Table 2)

attention to cultural meanings of landscape, However, they see the breadth and multiplicity of the concept as less helpful in the problems of selection in environmental management. For this, much more explicit expression of values and formulation of criteria are required. Implicit in all the discourses of cultural landscape analysed by Jones and Daugstad is a preservationist tendency: in looking after cultural landscapes we understand ourselves to be looking after aspects of the past. Indeed, it is

arguably distress at the ravages of the modern world that provided the context for the cultural landscape concept to emerge around the turn of the twentieth century. As Muir (1998) shows, the early proponents of the historical landscape school, including Carl Sauer and the English writers Jacquetta Hawkes and William Hoskins, were profoundly anti-modernist. The desire to protect past landscapes also extends from the national into the international arena, as we see in the next chapter.

CULTURAL LANDSCAPES AS 'DISCOURSE MATERIALIZED'

TABLE 5.4 The different discourses of cultural landscape research documents, 1987-93

in Norwegian and Nordic policy and applied

Discourse

Emphasis

Rhetoric

Primary values

Other values

Agricultural

Land in production

Economic

Ecological Cultural/ historical

Nature conservation

Seminatural ecosystems Built structures

Agriculture as a producer of amenity values Maintenance of biodiversity Significance of physical landscape meaning Harmony, tidiness, unity, variety

Ecological

Aesthetic Cultural/ historical Aesthetic

Cultural heritage

Planning

Landscape composition

Source: Summarized from Jones and Daugstad (1997)

79

Cultural/ historical

Aesthetic

Cultural/ historical Ecological

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CONTEMPORARY ISSUES AND THE LONG-TERM PERSPECTIVE

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Protecting places

6.0 Chapter summary This chapter will take the operation of the World Heritage Convention as an influential example of (1) the way the cultural and the natural are demarcated, and (2) the increasing influence, in environmental protection, of international-scale political processes. Changes over the past two decades to the World Heritage definition of, and criteria for inscription as, cultural landscapes are considered. The new category of the 'associative cultural landscape' has emerged in recognition of the intangible dimensions of landscape, and interactions between the physical and the spiritual/ symbolic. This process has been influenced by academic debates over culture and nature, by the increasing political voice of indigenous and non-Western peoples, and by the practical difficulties of managing inhabited protected areas. Australia's Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, originally nominated under natural heritage criteria, and later successfully renominated as an associative cultural landscape, is used as a case study.

6.1 Mechanisms of protection How do we ascribe value and significance to places, and what does it mean to try to protect cultural landscapes? This chapter examines these questions in relation to one particular mechanism of ascribing significance and effecting protection, the World Heritage Convention. It forms the backbone of this chapter for two main reasons. First, the

interplay between international, national and local forces is an increasingly important one in environmental management (O'Riordan et al., 1998). Second, the attempts of the World Heritage Committee to come to terms with changing conceptions of landscape illustrate the influence of the academic debates outlined in Chapter 4, and show how they play out in management strategies on the ground. These changing conceptions have been influenced not only by academic processes, however, but also by the political voices of non-Western and indigenous peoples in international fora. The chapter discusses the way the World Heritage Convention distinguishes between natural and cultural heritage, and its conceptualizations of cultural landscapes. It examines changes in criteria for inclusion of, and changing descriptions of, cultural properties between 1978 and the late 1990s. These show a shift away from emphases on monuments and buildings, towards considering the physical and social contexts in which structures are found. There is also increasing recognition of the intangible dimensions of landscape, and interactions between the physical and the spiritual/symbolic. At a national and local scale, Australia's Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park is used as a case study. Categorizations, of protected and unprotected areas, or of different types of protected areas, need to be recognized and considered as social constructions. This is not to argue that they are any less useful for that. However, it is important to consider how particular constructions have outcomes on the ground. At the most basic level, a particular distinction

PROTECTING PLACES

between the natural and the cultural is maintained in international, national and regional management structures. The World Heritage Committee is advised on natural issues by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN), and on cultural issues by the International Committee on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS). That the whole structure has had to grapple with a broader conceptualization of cultural landscape than just monuments and sites, which in the process challenges unproblematic notions of nature, is the subject of this chapter. Consider, for example, the IUCN categories of protected areas (Table 6.1). The first five categories vary along an axis of 'degree of intervention', with protected areas managed for science or wilderness protection at the 'natural' end and protected areas managed for landscape/ seascape conservation and recreation at the 'artificial' end (Thackway et al, 1996: 20-1). Two issues are notable here. Science is privileged, both as a reason for the highest level of landscape protection, and as an activity focused on natural rather than artificial landscapes. Here science is considered to be an activity outside culture, as we saw in Chapter 5. Second, the sixth category, added later, is the basis for negotiation of indigenous protected areas. Thackway et al. note that this category falls about halfway along the conceptual continuum between 'natural' and 'artificial', but it also challenges the whole basis of a protected area classification. Similar dilemmas pertain in the reflection of the culture-nature distinction in national and regional management structures. 'Cultural heritage' and 'natural heritage' and their equivalents are managed either by different

organizations, or different departments within a single organization. Kakadu National Park in Australia provides one example of a structural compartmentalization in management that is discordant with the integration of animals, plants and habitats into the social world of its Aboriginal owners (Allen, 1997). Some have suggested that cultural landscape approaches provide a means of overcoming the divide, and that appears to be a motivation behind increasing World Heritage use of the concept (see Box 6.1). Whether it improves things in day-to-day management is explored in the Uluru-Kata Tjuta case study. A number of important related issues are touched on in this chapter without being fully explored. Although this discussion focuses on landscapes mostly in public ownership, this is not the only means of protection. Many World Heritage properties are 'parks' or 'reserves' of one sort or another. There are important questions about the implications of such boundary creation for the landscapes outside, an issue that will be considered in Chapter 7. Also, we sidestep here any critical analysis of the notion of 'universal heritage'. That issue will be explored further in Chapter 9. 6.2 World Heritage cultural landscapes 6.2.1 Cultural and natural heritage The UNESCO Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage defines cultural and natural heritage as follows. Cultural heritage includes three categories:

TABLE 6.1 International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) categories of protected areas I

Strict Nature Reserve/Wilderness Area: protected area managed mainly for science or wilderness protection

II III IV

National Park: protected area managed mainly for ecosystem protection and recreation Natural Monument: protected area managed mainly for conservation of specific features Habitat/Species Management Area: protected area managed mainly for conservation through management intervention

V VI

Protected Landscape/seascape: protected area managed mainly for landscape/seascape conservation and recreation Managed Resource Protected Area: protected area managed mainly for the sustainable use of natural resources

Source:Phillips (1995:385)

WORLD HERITAGE CULTURAL LANDSCAPES 85

Box 6.1 World Heritage Convention: paragraphs which deal with categories of cultural landscape 35. With respect to cultural landscapes [emphasis in original], the Committee has furthermore adopted the following guidelines concerning their inclusion in the World Heritage List. 36. Cultural landscapes represent the 'combined works of nature and of man' designated in Article 1 of the Convention. They are illustrative of the evolution of human society and settlement over time, under the influence of the physical constraints and/or opportunities presented by their natural environment and of successive social, economic and cultural forces, both external and internal. They should be selected on the basis both of their outstanding universal value and of their representativity in terms of a clearly defined geo-cultural region and also for their capacity to illustrate the essential and distinct cultural elements of such regions. 37. The term 'cultural landscape' embraces a diversity of manifestations of the interaction between humankind and its natural environment. 38. Cultural landscapes often reflect specific techniques of sustainable land-use, considering the characteristics and limits of the natural environment they are established in, and a specific spiritual relation to nature. Protection of cultural landscapes can contribute to modern techniques of sustainable land-use and can maintain or enhance natural values in the landscape. The continued existence of traditional forms of land-use supports biological diversity in many regions of the world. The protection of traditional cultural landscapes is therefore helpful in maintaining biological diversity. 39. Cultural landscapes fall into three main categories, namely: (i) The most easily identifiable is the clearly defined landscape designed and

created intentionally by man [emphasis added]. This embraces garden and parkland landscapes constructed for aesthetic reasons which are often (but not always) associated with religious or other monumental buildings and ensembles, (ii) The second category is the organically evolved landscape [emphasis added]. This results from an initial social, economic, administrative, and / or religious imperative and has developed its present form by association with and in response to its natural environment. Such landscapes reflect that process of evolution in their form and component features. They fall into two sub-categories: • a relict (or fossil) landscape is one in which an evolutionary process came to an end at some time in the past, either abruptly or over a period. Its significant distinguishing features are, however, still visible in material form. • a continuing landscape is one which retains an active social role in contemporary society closely associated with the traditional way of life, and in which the evolutionary process is still in progress. At the same time it exhibits significant material evidence of its evolution over time. (iii) The final category is the associative cultural landscape [emphasis added]. The inclusion of such landscapes on the World Heritage List is justifiable by virtue of the powerful religious, artistic or cultural associations of the natural element rather than material cultural evidence, which may be insignificant or even absent. (Source: www.unesco.org/whc/opgulist.htmtt paras 35-39)

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• Monuments: architectural works, works of monumental sculpture and painting, elements or structures of an archaeological nature, inscriptions, cave dwellings and combinations of features, which are of outstanding universal value from the point of view of history, art or science; • Groups of buildings: groups of separate or connected buildings which, because of their architecture, their homogeneity or their place in the landscape, are of outstanding universal value from the point of view of history, art or science; • Sites: works of man or the combined works of nature and man, and areas including archaeological sites which are of outstanding universal value from the historical, aesthetic, ethnological or anthropological point of view.

The following are considered natural heritage: • Natural features consisting of physical and

biological formations or groups of such formations, which are of outstanding universal value from the aesthetic or scientific point of view; • Geological and physiographical formations and precisely delineated areas which constitute the habitat of threatened species of animals and plants of outstanding universal value from the point of view of science or conservation; • Natural sites or precisely delineated natural areas of outstanding universal value from the point of view of science, conservation or natural beauty. (www.unesco.org/whc/ world_he.htm Articles 1 and 2)

Cultural properties must meet one of six eligibility criteria (Box 6.2) and natural properties one of four (Box 6.3). Both must pass tests of authenticity and integrity.

or technological ensemble or landscape which illustrates (a) significant stage(s) in human history; or (a) (v) be an outstanding example of a traditional human settlement or land-use which is representative of a culture (or cultures), especially when it has become vulnerable under the impact of irreversible change; or (a) (vi) be directly or tangibly associated with events or living traditions, with ideas, or with beliefs, with artistic and literary works of outstanding universal signifi cance (the Committee considers that this criterion should justify inclusion in the List only in excep tional circumstances and in conjunction with other criteria cultural or natural);

Box 6.2 World Heritage Convention: paragraphs which deal with criteria for inclusion of cultural properties in the World Heritage List 24. A monument, group of buildings or site ... which is nominated for inclusion in the World Heritage List will be considered to be of outstanding universal value for the purpose of the Convention when the Committee finds that it meets one or more of the following criteria and [emphasis added] the test of authenticity. Each property nominated should therefore: (a) (i) represent a masterpiece of human creative genius; or (a) (ii) exhibit an important interchange of human values, over a span of time or within a cultural area of the world, on developments in architecture or technology, monumental arts, town-planning or landscape design; or (a) (iii) bear a unique or at least exceptional testimony to a cultural tradition or to a civilization which is living or which has disappeared; or (a) (iv) be an outstanding example of a type of building or architectural

and (b) (i) meet the test of authenticity in design, material, workmanship or setting and in the case of cultural landscapes their distinctive character and components (the Committee stressed that reconstruction is only acceptable if it is carried out on the basis of complete and detailed docu-

WORLD HERITAGE CULTURAL LANDSCAPES 87

mentation on the original and to no extent on conjecture). (b) (ii) have adequate legal and/or contractual and/or traditional protection and management mechanisms to ensure the conservation of the nominated cultural properties or cultural landscapes. The existence of protective legislation at the national, provincial or municipal level and / or a wellestablished contractual or traditional protection as well as of adequate management and/or planning control mechanisms is therefore essential and, as is clearly indicated in the following paragraph, must be stated clearly on the nomination form.

Assurances of the effective implementation of these laws and/or contractual and/or traditional protection as well as of these management mechanisms are also expected. Furthermore, in order to preserve the integrity of cultural sites, particularly those open to large numbers of visitors, the State Party concerned should be able to provide evidence of suitable administrative arrangements to cover the management of the property, its conservation and its accessibility to the public. (Source: www.unesco.org/whc/opgulist.htmtt para 24

(a) (iii) contain superlative natural phenomena or areas of exceptional natural beauty and aesthetic importance; or (a) (iv) contain the most important and significant natural habitats for insitu conservation of biological diversity, including those containing threatened species of outstanding universal value from the point of view of science or conservation;

Box 6.3 World Heritage Convention: paragraphs which deal with criteria for inclusion of natural properties in the World Heritage List 44. A natural heritage property - as defined above - which is submitted for inclusion in the World Heritage List will be considered to be of outstanding universal value for the purposes of the Convention when the Committee finds that it meets one or more of the following criteria and fulfils the conditions of integrity set out below. Sites nominated should therefore: (a) (i) be outstanding examples representing major stages of Earth's history, including the record of life, significant on-going geological processes in the development of land forms, or significant geomorphic or physiographic features; or (a) (ii) be outstanding examples representing significant on-going ecological and biological processes in the evolution and development of terrestrial, fresh water, coastal and marine ecosystems and communities of plants and animals; or

and

(b) also fulfil the following conditions of integrity [emphasis in original]: (b) (i) The sites described in 44(a)(i) should contain all or most of the key interrelated and interdependent elements in their natural relationships; for example, an 'ice age' area should include the snow field, the glacier itself and samples of cutting patterns, deposition and colonization (e.g. striations, moraines, pioneer stages of plant succession, etc.); in the case of volcanoes, the magmatic series should be complete and all or most of the varieties of effusive rocks and types of eruptions be represented.

PROTECTING PLACES

(b) (ii) The sites described in 44(a)(ii) should have sufficient size and contain the necessary elements to demonstrate the key aspects of processes that are essential for the long-term conservation of the ecosystems and the biological diversity they contain; for example, an area of tropical rainforest should include a certain amount of variation in elevation above sea-level, changes in topography and soil types, patch systems and naturally regenerating patches; similarly a coral reef should include, for example, seagrass, mangrove or other adjacent ecosystems that regulate nutrient and sediment inputs into the reef. (b) (iii) The sites described in 44(a)(iii) should be of outstanding aesthetic value and include areas that are essential for maintaining the beauty of the site; for example, a site whose scenic values depend on a waterfall, should include adjacent catchment and downstream areas that are integrally linked to the maintenance of the aesthetic qualities of the site. (b) (iv) The sites described in paragraph 44(a)(iv) should contain habitats for maintaining the most diverse fauna and flora characteristic of the biogeographic province and ecosystems under consideration; for example, a tropical savannah should include a complete assemblage of co-evolved herbivores and plants; an island ecosystem should include habitats for maintaining endemic biota; a site containing wide-ranging species should be large enough to include the most critical habitats essential to ensure the survival of viable populations of those species; for an area containing migratory species, seasonal breeding and nesting sites, and migratory routes, wherever they are located, should be adequately protected; international conventions, e.g. the Convention of Wetlands of

International Importance Especially as Waterfowl Habitat (Ramsar Convention), for ensuring the protection of habitats of migratory species of waterfowl, and other multi- and bilateral agreements could provide this assurance. (b) (v) The sites described in paragraph 44(a) should have a management plan. When a site does not have a management plan at the time when it is nominated for the consideration of the World Heritage Committee, the State Party concerned should indicate when such a plan will become available and how it proposes to mobilize the resources required for the preparation and implementation of the plan. The State Party should also provide other document(s) (e.g. operational plans) which will guide the management of the site until such time when a management plan is finalized. (b) (vi) A site described in paragraph 44(a) should have adequate longterm legislative, regulatory, institutional or traditional protection. The boundaries of that site should reflect the spatial requirements of habitats, species, processes or phenomena that provide the basis for its nomination for inscription on the World Heritage List. The boundaries should include sufficient areas immediately adjacent to the area of outstanding universal value in order to protect the site's heritage values from direct effects of human encroachment and impacts of resource use outside of the nominated area.- The boundaries of the nominated site may coincide with one or more existing or proposed protected areas, such as national parks or biosphere reserves. While an existing or proposed protected area may contain several management zones, only some of those zones may satisfy criteria

WORLD HERITAGE CULTURAL LANDSCAPES

described in paragraph 44(a); other zones, although they may not meet the criteria set out in paragraph 44(a), may be essential for the management to ensure the integrity of the nominated site; for example, in the case of a biosphere reserve, only the core zone may meet the criteria and the conditions of integrity, although other zones, i.e. buffer and transitional zones, would be important for the conservation of the biosphere reserve in its totality. Sites described in paragraph 44(a) should be the most important sites for the conservation of biological diversity.

All the three types of cultural properties would constitute cultural landscapes within the understanding of this book. Indeed, the fact that natural areas and sites are valued, protected and managed in terms of something called 'world heritage' makes them also cultural landscapes. They are brought into the human realm by being interpreted and classified in a certain way. But, as was explored in Chapter 4, this problematization of the 'natural' is a relatively recent academic trend, one to which the World Heritage Committee is itself responding by its increased recognition of associative cultural landscapes without necessary material alteration. For example, Yellowstone and Yosemite National Parks in the USA were inscribed as World Heritage natural properties in 1978 and 1984 respectively. These definitive wilderness areas have been used as prime examples in recent discussions that show the multiple cultural bases of such landscapes. These include seeing them: • • •

as early examples of the National Park concept which would become influential worldwide; as icons of the sublime tradition in white North American thinking about nature; as sites of Native American occupation and activity, including manipulation through the use of fire (e.g. Cronon, 1996a; Olwig, 1996; Spirn, 1996).

Biological diversity, according to the new global Convention on Biological Diversity, means the variability among living organisms in terrestrial, marine and other aquatic ecosystems and the ecological complexes of which they are part and includes diversity within species, between species and of ecosystems. Only those sites which are the most biologically diverse are likely to meet criterion (iv) of paragraph 44(a). (Source:

www.unesco.org / whc / opgulist.htm#para 44)

If these properties were nominated today, it would most likely be on the basis of cultural as well as natural criteria (N.J. Mitchell, 1995). The property discussed in detail in this chapter, Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, was originally inscribed on the basis of natural criteria in 1987, and reinscribed in terms of cultural criteria in 1994 in recognition of it as an Anangu (the name of the local Aboriginal people) landscape. There are important issues here that relate to the way this key mechanism of international heritage protection distinguishes between culture and nature, and promulgates a notion of universal value. Following discussions in Chapters 4 and 5, we should also pay attention to the way in which these international negotiations construct and influence certain understandings of and knowledge about landscape. Although these issues are not the focus of this chapter, it is important to acknowledge them before moving on. Take as a further example the Australian Fossil Mammal Sites (Riversleigh/Naracoorte), inscribed in 1994 under natural criteria (a) (i) and (ii) (see Box 6.3 for details of these criteria). In the north and south respectively of eastern Australia, they are considered 'among the world's ten greatest fossil sites. They superbly illustrate the stages of evolution of Australia's unique fauna' (www.unesco.org/whc/sites). Without denying the significance of the sites or their

90

PROTECTING PLACES

fossil record, it is important to remember the profoundly cultural processes that rendered them significant. The classification of these sites as 'natural' makes the human labour of science invisible. Yet the public meaning of these sites has been enhanced because of exposure to that very labour: the 'detective work' of discoveries, the romance and tedium of remote-area fieldwork, and the 'painstaking' laboratory processing (Archer et al., 1994). Indeed, it is unlikely that there would have been pressure for the World Heritage nomination without the construction of Riversleigh within the public imagination. As we saw in Chapter 5, science needs to be explicitly recognized as part of these cultural processes. However, while being mindful of the profound cultural basis of the designation of some sites as World Heritage 'nature', we are going to focus in this case study on the specific properties designated as cultural landscapes, a concept adopted by the World Heritage Committee only in 1992 (UNESCO, 1995). Cultural landscapes are ones which represent the 'combined works of nature and of man' as designated under Article 1 of the convention, above. The inclusion of this category was an attempt to go beyond seeing cultural heritage purely in terms of monuments, and recognized that the cultural and natural elements may be inseparable. They fall into three main categories, as defined under paragraph 39 of the Operational Guidelines (Box 6.1). The first and most easily identifiable is the clearly defined and intentionally created landscape, such as gardens and parkland. The second is the organically evolved landscape, which can be either relict (fossil) or continuing. An example of a fossil landscape is one with very visible prehistoric sites, such as tumuli linked to funeral ceremonies in the Sahara. Continuing landscapes include the irrigated rice terraces of Luzon in the northern Philippines. These are a very obvious landscape of physical transformation, with the terraces supported by dry-stone walls on steep mountainsides 700-1500 m above sea level. There are also conceptual expressions here: 'each of the clusters of terraces has a buffer ring of private forests (muyong), a hamlet and a sacred grove'

(Titchen, 1996: 34). Villages are focused on a ritual rice field, always the first to be planted and harvested. The third category is the associative cultural landscape, whereby powerful religious or cultural associations with nature may have little or no material evidence. An example is the sacred wood in the Harare area of Zimbabwe, which has been preserved from farming pressure by religious taboos against chopping it down (UNESCO, 1999). The addition of the associative cultural landscape acknowledges the link between the physical and spiritual aspects of landscape. It was seen to be particularly relevant to the cultural practices of indigenous peoples, and to the Asia-Pacific region with its diversity of living traditions in relation to land and water (UNESCO, 1995). The intellectual context in which such concepts could gain political ground was influenced by discussions on landscape occurring within a number of academic disciplines, such as those discussed in Chapter 4. The first two properties to be included on the World Heritage list for their associative cultural values were Tongariro National Park in New Zealand and Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park in Australia (discussed in more detail in section 6.3). Both properties had already been listed for their natural values. This highlights the close correlation between traditional custodianship by indigenous people and the maintenance of qualities described as 'natural heritage', and begs the question of the extent to which environments valued for their 'naturalness' are in fact artefacts of indigenous activity over millennia. Further, these shifts in thinking are not without their challenges on the ground; for example, 'management problems may arise if traditional land-use practices are seen to conflict with other nature conservation strategies' (UNESCO, 1995:11) (see Chapter 8). 6.2.2 Changes in cultural landscapes, 1978-1997

In Chapter 4 we considered how thinking about landscapes has changed over the past two decades or so. During this period World Heritage thinking about cultural landscapes

WORLD HERITAGE CULTURAL LANDSCAPES 91

has also changed in response to both academic and political processes. In turn, the recognition of a broader range of cultural landscapes will influence public thinking, as can be seen in the example of Uluru-Kata Tjuta (section 6.3). The World Heritage Committee has recognized cultural landscapes since 1992, with attention before that time focused on the two other categories of monuments and buildings. More subtle changes in thinking and practice are reflected in changes since 1978 to the criteria by which all cultural properties have been assessed (compare Box 6.2 with Box 6.4). There is a shift from unidirectional cultural influence to 'interchange' (criterion (ii)). Emphasis on rarity or antiquity for its own sake has been removed, and the possibility of living traditions included (criterion (iii)). Structures or buildings are now considered more within their landscape context, as part of an 'ensemble', and also within historical context (criterion (iv)). An emphasis on urban structures has changed to the broader 'human settlement and land use' (criterion (v)). Within the criterion related to ideas and beliefs (criterion (vi)), emphasis on historical events and persons has been replaced with consideration of outstanding universal significance. Overall, then, the criteria have broadened to offer the possibility of considering more

Box 6.4 World Heritage cultural heritage criteria, 1978 (i) Represent a unique artistic or aesthetic achievement, a masterpiece of the creative genius. (ii) Have exerted considerable influence, over a span of time or within a cultural area of the world, on development in architecture, monumental sculpture, garden and landscape design, related arts, townplanning or human settlements (iii) Be unique, extremely rare, or of great antiquity. (iv) Be among the most characteristic examples of a type of structure, the type representing an important cultural, social, artistic, scientific, technological or industrial development.

dynamic and symbiotic relationships between people and their environment, and to avoid a linear view of history (Rossler, 1995). This does not mean that monuments and built structures are any less important, but they are likely to be considered more in broader context, rather than just, say, for architectural or artistic merit. These changes in thinking can also be illustrated by examining changes in the types of cultural properties included on the World Heritage list over time. It is important to remember that the process of nomination and inclusion is itself a complex cultural process and a product of many factors, including domestic political ones in the nominating state. We need to reiterate that the changes reflected here are changes in how people think about and value landscapes. They do not of themselves represent any absolute change in the abundance of certain types of landscapes. (There may, however, be consequent changes on the ground, for example if the environs of a significant building are brought into management as part of a more contextual approach.) Some of the processes are apparently contradictory. The globalizing structure of the UN is mirrored in the rhetoric of 'universal significance'. On the other hand, the move towards the 'associative cultural landscape' is a move towards recognizing the

(v) Be a characteristic example of a significant style of architecture, method of construction or form of town-planning or traditional human settlement that is fragile by nature or has become vulnerable under the impact of irreversible socio-cultural or economic change. (vi) Be most importantly associated with ideas or beliefs, with events or with persons, of outstanding historical importance or significance.

Source: www.unesco.org/whc/c-criteriachanges.htm. Various individual criteria were changed incrementally in 1980, 1984, 1994 and 1997.

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PROTECTING PLACES

diversity of environmental interactions expressed at the local scale. Early cultural properties inscribed on the World Heritage List (for detailed descriptions of sites, and all references in this section, see www.unesco.org/whc/sites) include buildings and monuments with important art associated: • Boyana Church, Sofia (Bulgaria, inscribed 1979), 'which is covered with frescoes, painted in 1259, making it one of the most important collections of medieval painting'; • the church and Dominican convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie with The Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci (Italy, inscribed 1980). Even where a total landscape is being inscribed, there is a tendency to describe and justify it with reference to architecture and art. For example, Venice and its Lagoon (Italy inscribed 1987) 'is, as a whole, an extraordinary architectural masterpiece in which even the smallest of its buildings contains the works of some of the world's greatest artists such as Giorgione, Titian, Tintoretto, Vernonese and others'. Indigenous or archaeological heritage is recognized in early inscriptions, where it can be related to built structures: • • • • •

the village of Ninstints, Anthony Island (Canada, inscribed 1981), with houses and 32 totem and mortuary poles; Mesa Verde (USA, inscribed 1978), a concentration of Anasazi Indian dwellings built from the sixth to the twelfth centuries; Stonehenge, Avebury and associated sites (United Kingdom, inscribed 1986); Maya site of Copan (Honduras, inscribed 1980); Archaeological ruins at Moenjodaro (Pakistan, inscribed 1980).

Where criterion (vi), relating to ideas and beliefs, was invoked, it was likely to be in relation to a religious building or monument: • • •

Aachen Cathedral (Germany, inscribed 1978); the Pyramid fields from Giza to Dahshur (Egypt, inscribed 1979); Durham Castle and Cathedral (United

•

Kingdom, inscribed 1986); Canterbury Cathedral, Saint Augustine's Abbey, and Saint Martin's Church (United Kingdom, inscribed 1988);

or to a place associated with one or more significant historical events: • • •

Independence Hall (USA, inscribed 1979); Palace and Park of Versailles (France, inscribed 1979); L'Anse aux Meadows National Historic Park (Canada, inscribed 1978), site of the first historic traces of a European presence in the Americas - an eleventh-century Viking settlement.

Among more recent nominations, there is a continuation of interest in significant archaeological structures (e.g. archaeological site of Troy, Turkey, inscribed 1998) and outstanding historic monuments (e.g. historic monuments of ancient Nara, Japan, 1998). There is also a noticeable tendency for 'ensembles' of buildings or designed landscapes to be more explicitly considered in their spatial and social contexts (e.g. the Millenary Benedictine Abbey of Pannonhalma and its natural environment, Hungary, inscribed 1996; the Lednice-Valtice cultural landscape, Czech Republic, inscribed 1996). Thus religious ensembles are described more in contextual than architectural terms: •

•

Ouadi Qadisha (the Holy Valley) and the forest of the Cedars of God (Horsh Arz el-Rab) (Lebanon, inscribed 1998): 'The Qadisha Valley is one of the most important early Christian monastic settlements in the world, and its monasteries, many of great age, are positioned dramatically in a rugged landscape. Nearby are the remains of the great forest of the Cedars of Lebanon, which were highly prized for the construction of great religious buildings in Antiquity'. Flemish Beguinages (Belgium, inscribed 1998): 'The Beguines were women who entered into a life dedicated to God without retiring from the world. In the 13th century they founded the beguinages, enclosed communities designed to meet their spiritual and material needs. The Flemish

WORLD HERITAGE CULTURAL LANDSCAPES 93

the Spanish side and three major cirque walls on the more abrupt northern slopes with France, classic presentations of these geologic landforms. But the site is also a pastoral landscape reflecting an agricultural way of life that was once widespread in the upland regions of Europe. It has survived unchanged into the 20th century only in this part of the Pyrenees, providing exceptional insights into past European society through its landscape of villages, farms, fields, upland pastures, and mountain roads.'

Beguinages are architectural ensembles composed of houses, churches, ancillary buildings and green spaces organized according to a spatial conception of urban or rural origin, and are built in styles specific to the Flemish cultural region. They bear extraordinary witness to the tradition of the Beguines that developed in north-western Europe in the Middle Ages/ There is increasing recognition of the value of prehistoric artistic expression and marking of the landscape. These tend to be described in universalist rather than local terms: •

•

Prehistoric rock art sites in the Coa Valley (Portugal, inscribed 1998): 'an outstanding example of the sudden flowering of creative genius at the dawn of human cultural development', in the period from 22,000 to 10,000 BC. Rock art of the Mediterranean Basin on the Iberian Peninsula (Spain, inscribed 1998): provides 'an exceptional picture of human life in a seminal period of human cultural evolution'.

Where living peoples express a connection to the land and to ancestors over periods at least as long, as in Uluru-Kata Tjuta, for example, the description is more in terms of local attachments than universal ancestors, as we shall see below. A number of important properties continue to be inscribed for meeting a combination of natural and cultural criteria. These include recognition of traditional interactions with landscape, including in Europe: •

•

The Laponian Area (Sweden, inscribed 1996), home of the Saami people. 'Every summer, the Saami lead their immense herds of reindeer towards the mountains through a natural landscape hitherto preserved, but now threatened by the advent of motor vehicles. Historic and on-going geological processes can be seen in the glacial moraines and changing water courses.' (see Chapter 9 for more detailed discussion of Sami issues.) Pyrenees - Mount Perdu (France/Spain, inscribed 1997): The site ... includes two of Europe's largest and deepest canyons on

In keeping with the efforts of the World Heritage committee to inscribe more properties from the Asia-Pacific region, nominations invoking both cultural and natural criteria have come from China, e.g. Mt Emei and Leshan Giant Buddha (1996). Emei is the site of a number of temples, and the largest Buddha in the world, and is 'also notable for its very diverse vegetation, ranging from sub-tropical to subalpine forests. Some of the trees are more than a thousand years old.' In inscribing this property the World Heritage committee underlined the importance of the link between the tangible and the intangible, the natural and the cultural (UNESCO, 1997: B.I). Chinese properties inscribed under purely cultural criteria also refer to harmonious interactions between humankind and nature: •

•

Lushan National Park (inscribed 1996): 'Mount Lushan, in Jiangxi, is one of the spiritual centres of Chinese civilization. Buddhist and Taoist temples, along with landmarks of Confucianism, where the most eminent masters taught, blend well into a strikingly beautiful landscape which has inspired countless artists who developed the aesthetic approach to nature found in Chinese culture.' Summer Palace, an imperial garden in Beijing (inscribed 1998) 'is a masterpiece of Chinese landscape garden design, integrating the natural landscape of hills and open water with manmade features such as pavilions, halls, palaces, temples and bridges into a harmonious and aesthetically exceptional whole'.

PROTECTING PLACES

6.3 Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park To Euro-Australian eyes, Uluru (also known as Ayers Rock) is a sandstone monolith some 9.4 km in circumference and rising about 340 m above the surrounding plain. To Australians it and Kata Tjuta (the Olgas) represent the centre, the desert, the outback. To them and nonAustralians alike, 'the rock' is one of the iconic images of Australia. The outstanding natural scenery of Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park was a key justification for its 1987 nomination to and inscription on the World Heritage List as a natural property (Box 6.5). The nomination also referred to 'outstanding examples of tectonic geochemical and geomorphic processes' and the surrounding arid land ecosystems (Australia, 1999: Appendix A). The then natural heritage criterion (criterion (iii)) recognized an 'exceptional combination of natural and cultural elements', and it was noted that the 'overlay of Aboriginal occupation adds a fascinating cultural aspect to the site' (Australia, 1994: 24). For Anangu, whose ancestors have lived in the area for at least 30,000 years, Uluru-Kata Tjuta is home - a cultural rather than a natural landscape. Accordingly it was renominated under cultural criteria in 1994 (Box 6.5). The Box 6.5 Nomination of Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, Australia, for inscription on the World Heritage List as a cultural landscape, 1994 In accordance with the following operational guidelines (see Box 6.1 for paragraph references): •

•

As a cultural landscape representing 'the combined works of nature and of man' (paragraph 36), manifesting the 'interaction between humankind and its natural environment' (paragraph 37); As a cultural landscape reflecting 'specific techniques of sustainable land-use' and 'a specific spiritual relation to nature' that can contribute to modern techniques of sustainable land-use' and 'support biological diversity' (paragraph 38);

'rock' is not a single place, but a complex of individually named places (Figure 6.1). Today's landscape is the outcome of millennia of management using traditional methods governed by the Tjukurpa (the law), which describes how the land was given form as a result of the travels of ancestral beings, and indeed defines all aspects of the relationship between people and the land and between people themselves. ...

The Tjukurpa is a complex concept which combines ancestral time and present time. It is founded upon a time when heroic beings who combined the attributes of humans and animals camped and travelled across the landscape. As they did so they shaped the features of the land. Their bodies, artefacts and actions became places imbued with their presence. (Australia, 1994: 8, 21) Anangu interact with the landscape in a variety of ways that scientists tend to think of in ecological terms. They apply a mosaic burning regime; they hunt and gather plants and animals; they use mobility and reciprocal rights with neighbouring groups as a buffer against the harsh and highly variable climate. For Anangu, however, these rights and responsibilities are prescribed and governed by Tjukurpa, which provides the basis for all social •

As an associative cultural landscape having 'powerful religious, artistic' and 'cultural associations of the natural element' (paragraph 39(iii)). Uluru-Kata Tjuta is nominated under the following criteria: 24(a)(v) an outstanding example of a traditional human settlement and land-use which is representative of a culture (or cultures), especially when it has become vulnerable under the impact of irreversible change. 24(a)(vi) directly and tangibly associated with events or living traditions, with ideas, or with beliefs ... of outstanding universal significance.

Source: Summarized from Australia (1994: ch. 5)

ULURU-KATA TJUTA NATIONAL PARK

95

Figure 6.1 Some Anangu place names at Uluru Source: Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park Draft Plan of Management (figure 4)

processes (Australia, 1994). Tjukurpa thus provides the moral - and, under the joint management agreement between Anangu and Parks Australia, the legal - basis for the management of Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, whose board of management has an Aboriginal majority (Australia, 1999). What are the implications of managing this place as a cultural rather than a natural landscape, of privileging Tjukurpa? There is much common ground with Western scientific principles of ecological management, and it would be wrong to overstate the differences. However, a few examples illustrate the significance of those differences (for more detailed discussion, see Australia, 1999). In contrast to many Western approaches which would see human activity as a threat to biodiversity, maintenance - or, where they

have been interrupted by colonization, reinstitution - of Anangu practices enhances biodiversity. For example, maintenance of the vegetation mosaic in the spinifex grasslands by regular burning has been shown to be essential for the survival of a number of endemic species, including mulgara (Dasycercus cristicauda) (Australia, 1994). Maintenance of a network of wells and waterholes across the country contributed to wildlife refugia, and the expertise of senior Anangu women is being used to re-establish this maintenance. Joint research by Western scientists and Anangu experts has resulted in new insights, and is particularly important to faunal management. Anangu recognize four principal ecological zones; this classification parallels but is not identical to a Western scientific classification (Table 6.2).

TABLE 6.2 Comparison of ecological zones recognized by Anangu and Western land systems within Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park Anangu zones

Western land systems

Apu or pull — rock faces and vegetated hill slopes;

Gillen - the two large outcrops (Uluru-KataTjuta), their gorges,

Puti - woodlands, particularly the mulga flats between sandhills;

gullies and creeklines, and associated fans and alluvium; Koree - gently sloping plains fringing the fans and alluvium of the Gtlen;

Tali and pi/a - sand dunes and sand plains; Karu - creek beds

Simpson - sand plains and dune fields

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PROTECTING PLACES

An important dimension of the management of such a place is the way it copes with visitors. The Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park Plan of Management recognizes the role of the park in national and international tourism. While the Anangu desire for privacy is strong, they recognize the political reality that many people want to go there. A central dilemma is the desire of many visitors to climb Uluru, contrary to the wishes of the traditional owners. This is Anangu land and we welcome you. Look around and learn so that you can know something about Anangu and understand that Anangu culture is strong and really important. We want our visitors to learn about our place and listen to us Anangu. Now a lot of visitors are only looking at sunset [Illustration 6.1] and climbing Uluru. That rock is a really important sacred thing. You shouldn't climb it! Climbing is not a proper part of this place. (Australia, 1999:109)

This quotation from senior owner Tony Tjamiwa emphasizes the spiritual disrespect for Tjukurpa that climbing the rock shows. There is also a safety aspect, since the Tjukurpa gives Anangu the responsibility, or 'duty of care', for visitors to their country. Tjamiwa also presents the broader context in which Anangu seek to welcome visitors: to have Uluru-Kata Tjuta understood as first and foremost an Anangu place. A key means of education in this respect is the cultural centre at the park, as well as increasing Anangu involvement as tour guides, educators and rangers (Illustration 6.2). Thus visitors are

encouraged to walk around the rock rather than up it, and to learn about various aspects of Aboriginal culture. (For further details, see Chapter 9.) There are complex issues involved in communicating cross-cultural ways of seeing the landscape, and in devising management strategies that satisfy both Tjukurpa and Western conservation values. Some of those issues are explored further in Chapters 8 and 9. The advertising material that attracts tourists to Uluru, the interpretive signage that will confront them when they arrive, the fire scars that they may or may not notice are all local manifestations of a nested set of processes influencing the ways highly valued landscapes are represented and managed. In this example the World Heritage inscription of Uluru-Kata Tjuta as an associative cultural landscape provides an international mechanism for the recognition of Anangu aspirations. In turn, recognition of this conceptualization as the central one influences outcomes on the ground. In considering tensions in the management of Uluru-Kata Tjuta, of which the issue of climbing the rock provides just one example, it is important to remember that the Aboriginal peoples' land claim to the area was conditional on their leasing it back to the Commonwealth of Australia as a national park. Nominal Aboriginal power is constrained by political realities. If there are tensions and dissatisfactions in the most widely cited model examples of joint management, Uluru-Kata Tjuta and

Image Not Available

ILLUSTRATION 6.1 Tourists watch the sunset at Uluru (by permission of Richard Fullagar)

Image Not Available

Tours from $39.00 ILLUSTRATION 6.2 Anangu tour brochure (by permission of Anangu Tours)

PROTECTING PLACES

Kakadu National Parks, these are even greater in situations where Aboriginal people have less power over land (Smyth and Sutherland, 1996).

6.4 The inheritance of future generations At one level the connection of World Heritage cultural landscapes with the past is so obvious as to be hardly worth mentioning. Whether explicitly designed, organically evolved or associative, these are landscapes that attest to long periods of human interaction. Their significance accrues partly because of the passage of time. Even in those landscapes where tradition is seen as a living thing, it is also valued in terms of its continuity with the past. The documentation for the World Heritage listing of Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, for example, makes frequent reference to the fact that Anangu ancestors have lived in the area for more than 30,000 years, and that the contemporary Anangu social structure and adaptations are thought to have emerged within the past 5000 years. Yet the notion of protecting the past leads to the use of particular imagery in terms of future action. The counterposing of long-accumulated

past time against the 'rapidly developing world' accentuates the possibility of future 'threat' and 'damage'. World Heritage (or any other protective mechanism for that matter) then presents itself as a bulwark against the otherwise overwhelming tide of rapid and destructive change. For example, With 582 cultural and natural sites already protected worldwide, the World Heritage Centre is working to make sure that future generations can inherit the treasures of the past. And yet, most sites face a variety of threats, particularly in today's environment. The preservation of this common heritage concerns us all. (WWW.unesco.org / whc) It is not my intention to underrate the threats to important cultural and natural sites - quite the opposite. Rather it is to show how the preservationist rhetoric unduly constrains discussions of the problem. The subtext, that the ideal would somehow be to freeze time, does not help us think about managing for change. This forms the subject of Chapter 7. Nor does there seem to be much conceptual space among the threats for the possibility of positive human influences in living landscapes. Yet an ongoing human presence is integral to all World Heritage properties, cultural and natural. These dilemmas are addressed in Chapter 8.

Restored, (p)reserved and created landscapes

7.0 Chapter summary How do we manage landscapes in an environment of change? Three key terms of human intervention in environmental and cultural heritage management - restoration, preservation and creation - each contain an implied temporal direction. The issues involved in going backwards, maintaining the present and shaping the future are discussed, using examples from both biotic and built landscapes. The value of the long-term record is not that it specifies previous conditions which should be restored, but that it can illustrate the processes and mechanisms of change, and the likely location of irreversible thresholds. The possibilities and context of restoration in recently settled New Zealand and long-occupied parts of the Old World are compared. The cultural heritage

ILLUSTRATION 7.1 Archaeological site protection, Murramarang, New South Wales, Australia, aims to stem the tide of change, in this case from coastal erosion

management principle that the restoration process must explicitly draw attention to itself, and label itself as such, provides a good model for ecological restoration. Landscapes of preservation, as exemplified by national parks, need to incorporate a capacity for change, whether at the level of wildlife migration patterns, political variables or climatically induced vegetation shifts. In all these examples, clarification of management goals is crucial to effective intervention.

7.1 Managing for change The central issue of this chapter is the management of landscapes in a context of environmental change (Illustration 7.1). As we established in Chapters 2 and 3, all contem-

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RESTORED, (P)RESERVED AND CREATED LANDSCAPES

porary landscapes are the product of long-term environmental processes in which change is the norm. Global change analyses are predicated on the continuation, indeed acceleration, of change in the future. What sort of management is appropriate in this context? We shall discuss here both landscapes valued mainly for their physical and biotic features, and those which can be termed built landscapes. This approach tries to get away from the nature/culture dualism that was critiqued in the first half of the book. It also recognizes that the issues of change relate to both, albeit often on different timescales. A built structure, like an old-growth forest, is produced in a particular set of circumstances. Neither is frozen in time; they are subject to social and ecological processes operating at a range of scales. The built structure may be used, abandoned, subject to decay, reoccupied, and partially rebuilt over hundreds or thousands of years. The composition and structure of the forest changes as climate changes, hunter-gatherers use it, and it is subjected to storm damage or disease over similar timescales. Fire of different intensities and frequencies will differentially affect different forest components. In both cases what survives for us is a complex product of all these processes. In both cases there may be good reasons for wanting to protect the landscape from damage, but in neither case can we protect it from change. An important thread throughout this chapter, then, is the necessity to clarify what we can and should protect in different contexts. Informed environmental management requires us to be more explicit about our goals. We have the tools to do this, as the examples in this chapter will show. Thinking about environmental change is inseparable from the dimension of time. Indeed, the key terms in this chapter contain an implied temporal direction. Restoration contains the idea of going backwards, of returning to a previous condition, whether of forests, rivers or buildings. Preservation implies maintaining some element of present conditions or processes. Creation looks towards the future. Important notions of time and change are embedded within the termi-

nology of landscape management; I will not treat this as a simple definitional question that needs a certain amount of clarification before we get to the real business. Rather, in this chapter it is important to explore these cultural understandings in order to clarify the basis of decision-making. As Higgs (1997: 339) argues, 'failure to achieve clarity on moral and cultural considerations will hinder ecological restoration's potential to generate healthy relationships between the people and the land'. 7.2 Restored landscapes: going backwards? The changing cultural context is seen clearly in, for example, the definitional wrestling over ecological restoration, as reviewed by Higgs (1997) (Table 7.1). Past conceptualizations of restoration as 'applied succession' (Parker, 1997) show how closely it is related to a particular view of ecosystem change. Higgs argues that good restoration requires attention to the cultural context of both the restoration process itself and the environment being restored. Restoration is something 'constructed by human values and attitudes' (1997: 345). The cultural history will be crucial to answering questions such as 'To what conditions should this environment be restored?' (e.g. Illustration 7.2). Challenges to the concepts of 'indigenous' or 'original' ecosystems have come from both the Old World, with long histories of intensive usage, and indigenous people, who also have a long history of use. Ecological fidelity is thus a necessary, but not a sufficient, component of restoration. Human dimensions are important in the three principles of ecological fidelity: •

Structural/compositional replication of the socalled natural ecosystem. 'For example, a tallgrass prairie must have close to the expected diversity of floral and faunal species' (Higgs, 1997: 343). This is likely to require not just controlled burning but much more detailed activities including weeding, selective plantings, use of herbicides, thinning and, importantly, time.

RESTORED LANDSCAPES GOING BACKWARDS? 101

TABLE 7.1 Definitions of ecological restoration, and associated issues/problems Organization, date

Definition

Issues/problems

Society for

The process of intentionally altering a

Why is one timeslice preferable to

Ecological Restoration (USA), 1990

another?

site to establish a defined, indigenous

How practical where evidence of

historic ecosystem.The goal of this process is to

past ecology is erased?

emulate the structure, function, diversity and dynamics of the specified ecosystem.

What does indigenous mean in areas with long periods of human interaction?

Society for Ecological Restoration, 1995

The process of

Very general

renewing and maintaining ecosystem health

Of little use in describing basic elements of restoration practice

US National Research Council, 1992

The return of an

Technically detailed

ecosystem to a close approximation of its

Attends to balance

condition prior to

between function and

disturbance. In restoration, ecological

structure No cultural

damage to the resource is repaired. Both the structure and the functions

context - what (and when) is disturbance?

of the ecosystem are re-created.... Often ... requires ... reconstruction of antecedent physical hydroiogic and morphological conditions; chemical clean-up or adjustment of the environment...

Source: After Higgs (1997)

Functional success. 'The ecosystem must align ecologically with the system it is designed to reproduce' (p. 343). This usually depends on management, e.g. use of fire on the prairies. 'Also, some ecosystems depend on human practices for example, cultural landscapes that have long involved humans as part of the ecological functioning' (p. 343).

•

Durability. The restoration 'must hold up over a significant period of time, significant being defined relative to the type of ecosystem' (p. 344).

Central to thinking about restoration is the question of natural states. Is there a baseline to which systems can be returned? Following their important role in the articulation of non-

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RESTORED, (P)RESERVED AND CREATED LANDSCAPES

ILLUSTRATION 7.2 Minnamurra National Park, New South Wales, protects a small area of rainforest, much of which has regrown following clearance for agriculture in the nineteenth century. Interpretive material in the park glosses over these processes of historical change

equilibrium ecology (see Chapter 3), Pickett and Parker see one of the pitfalls of restoration ecology as the belief 'that there is one reference state or system that can inform restoration' (1994: 75; see also Hobbs and Norton, 1996). The second pitfall is to see it as a discrete event rather than intervention in an ongoing process. Contingency means that restoration ecologists will have a variety of reference states to choose from. Contingency establishes a whole range of systems, not just one 'climax' or predisturbance state. Of course there are many ecological and societal reasons to choose certain reference states, including aesthetics, commodity production, ecosystem services, and species protection, among others. But the point is that restoration ecologists must choose, and nature provides a range of ecologically valid system states. (Pickett and Parker, 1994: 76)

Others reply that some standard or reference is necessary to evaluate the success of a restoration project (Aronson et al., 1995), particularly when many practitioners of restoration are not immersed in the nuances of the ecological literature. The agreement here is that restoration is a matter of making conscious human choices about intervention. Aronson et al. (1995) emphasize the importance of a reference system's being indigenous and historic. While the idea of alternative future states includes a temporal dimension in that direction, the past history is not always considered (Hobbs and Norton, 1996; Aronson

and Le Floc'h, 1996) (Figure 7.1). Processes in past time are felt to be particularly important in order 'to ascertain whether any "thresholds of irreversibility" have been crossed' (Aronson and Le Floc'h, 1996: 330), and to discern the amplitude of change (Figure 7.2).

Image Not Available Stays the same Continued decline Time

FIGURE 7.1 'Traditional view of restoration options for a degraded system, illustrating the idea that the system can travel along a number of different trajectories and that the goal of restoration is to hasten the trajectory towards some desired state. In this view, the past history of the system is not considered, yet the route by which the system reaches the present point can have a large impact on the potential for restoration' Source: Hobbs and Norton (1996: figure 2). By permission of Blackwell Science Inc.

RESTORED LANDSCAPES GOING BACKWARDS? 103

Land abandonment

Restoration trajectory

Central Chile

Rehabilitation trajectory

Southern France

Image Not Available Threshold of irreversibility

Land abandonment -10,000 yrs -5000 yrs

-500 yrs

Present

FIGURE 7.2 The Hobbs and Norton figure after modification: the comparison of two specific areas with similar Mediterranean bioclimates. We have added a distinction between restoration and rehabilitation, and we emphasize the notion of trajectories . . . . Declining curves correspond to periods of increasing human exploitation of resources and, often, increasing human density' Source: Aronson and Le Floc'h (1996: figure 2). By permission of Blackwell Science Inc.

7.2.1 Restoring pre-human New Zealand forests As a means of clarifying these issues, we begin with an argument that says we can and should go backwards. New Zealand, argues palaeoecologist Matt McGlone, was colonized by humans so recently that it is possible to aspire to a prehuman baseline. While acknowledging the extent and causes of change in Australasian terrestrial ecosystems - megafaunal extinctions, introduction of exotics, soil degradation through agriculture, and increasing levels of atmospheric carbon dioxide - McGlone (1999) argues that this enhances rather than undermines the rationale for restoration. For both biological (genetic potential) and moral (their right to exist) reasons, we want 'self-sustaining, resilient ecosystems capable of responding to future environmental change' (McGlone, 1999: 3). The key to this, he argues, is a 'natural environment template [that] summarizes what past environments were like, what present environments could be like without gross human interference, and how they might be in the future' (p. 3). A template is seen not as a static baseline, but as a multi-layered work in progress that can be modified according to new data and ideas.

For New Zealand the most important level is the pre-human state, about 800 years ago, still within the lifespan of some of the older forest trees. A second level, the AD 1840 horizon (date of the Treaty of Waitangi, symbolizing the conversion from sole Maori management to British control), 'is currently used by the New Zealand Department of Conservation as a de facto starting point for considering landscape issues' (McGlone, 1999: 6). McGlone considers use of this time as a baseline to be problematic because it interprets large areas of non-forest ecosystems - scrub, grassland and fernland - as indigenous and of prime conservation significance. For McGlone, however, the 'natural' New Zealand landscape is 85 per cent forest, a goal attainable 'in the absence of constant human effort to arrest ecological successions' (p. 6) (Figure 7.3). As rural land is increasingly abandoned, the natural template will be essential to make sense of changing ecosystems (Box 7.1). I am engaging with McGlone's arguments at some length here because he is one of the few palaeoecologists to go beyond the rhetoric that the past has relevance for the future. He has attempted to map out explicit goals for the

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NON-FOREST - Natural or low-intensity use

Image Not Available

-10,000 Kawakawa eruption

-100

Taupo eruption

Years

future, based on the past. Even for Australia, with a much longer human history than New Zealand (see Chapter 2 for an overview of these debates), McGlone thinks 'it will be important for Australians to have the "without-human template" to remind them what natural

Box 7.1 Using the natural environment template to make sense of changing ecosystems in New Zealand

+ 100

+ 1000

FIGURE 7.3 Past and future vegetation cover of New Zealand Source: McGlone (1999). By permission of Matt McGlone

ecosystems can be without humans' (1999: 6). While I can see this as a useful device for imagining other possibilities, to escape the tyranny of the present (Box 7.1), the climatic conditions of pre-human Australia were very different from those of the present. I am less convinced

within this cycle, and this enables prediction of the spatial scale needed' (p. 8). Establishing a spatial scale

Preventing the tyranny of the present Reconstruction projects are focusing on 'remnant indigenous species left not from an original ecosystem, but from a previous human induced ecosystem', 'simply because the original ecosystems have been reduced to near invisibility' (p. 7). The Maori-induced ecosystems are deceptively natural, although 'often celebrated and cared for as unchanging fragments of lost landscapes' (p. 7). Establishing a time frame If we accept the need to plan for the long term, how long should it be? For McGlone, the only really relevant timescale is the glacial-interglacial cycle, about 120,000 years. 'All the extremes for which a species has adapted or can withstand, will occur

Different ecosystems have different needs. Some very specialized ecosystems and their species may survive, indeed evidently have survived past cycles, in small landscape fragments. 'For others - such as most forest ecosystems - freedom to contract and expand in relation to landscape disturbance and climatic change is essential in the long term' (p. 9). Security and planning for disturbance Particularly in the New Zealand context, major disturbances (earthquakes, volcanic activity) are part of the pattern of change. An historical perspective is essential to understand the return time and spatial scale of these. Source: McGlone (1999)

RESTORED LANDSCAPES GOING BACKWARDS? 105

(less optimistic?) than McGlone that the glacial-interglacial cycle is the relevant timescale to aim for. The attempt to shift the focus of attention and management from 'the lightly modified protected estate' to the 'vast areas that have been heavily or almost completely modified by human activities' (p. 4) is of relevance to many New World contexts beyond Australasia. Similarly, McGlone's critique of patchy 'theme park' ecosystems within an intensively managed landscape reminds us that preservation and conservation resources are often misdirected. If he is right that neither Australia nor New Zealand will depend on wide-scale agriculture and forestry for much longer (at least within the glacial-interglacial time frame!), then large areas of land will undergo changing use. In contrast to the New Zealand situation, there would be few Australian ecologists who would expect a 'succession' to forest cover to ensue; many argue that the Australian landscape has become so degraded through agriculture that irreversible thresholds, of for example soil fertility, have been crossed. For all that they are lumped together in northern eyes as 'the Antipodes', Australia and New Zealand are very different ecologically and in their human history, illustrating that these issues need to be worked through in their local context. McGlone's arguments about naturalness raise another set of issues. While an important thread of his argument is that many New Zealanders have treated heavily modified Maori ecosystems as unproblematically natural, he in turn evokes an unproblematically natural pre-human past. Even assuming such a restoration is possible, it is difficult to see how this sits with a human presence that is by definition 'unnatural'. Under such a definition, human activity can only be damaging; there appears no conceptual space here for creative human activity. And yet, as McGlone acknowledges, people are going to want to live in these recovering forest areas. With the marketing of New Zealand as a 'natural' tourist destination, the pressure from visitors is also set to increase. McGlone comes closer to solving this apparent paradox when he explains that the

problem with modified ecosystems is not that they are unnatural per se, but rather that they are floristically impoverished (1999: 5). While this is an important point, and one that can be discussed on its merits, there are a number of implicit assumptions here about past and present Maori impacts and aspirations. As with other indigenous peoples, Maori perspectives on conservation are rarely encountered in the scientific literature (Roberts et al., 1995). These issues will be discussed further in Chapter 8. A further interesting issue is the assumption that climate change will be the main driver of environmental change in the future. This may be the case for a New Zealand with a shrinking economy, but it is not likely to be the case in most parts of the world with rapidly growing populations (Table 3.2, p. 44). There is a danger here in assuming that the needs of urban dwellers can be met independent of the increasing areas that fall under the ecological footprint. 7.2.2 Restoring traditional agricultural landscapes In north-west Europe, with its much longer period of human history, the issue of landscape restoration is conceptualized quite differently. In Britain and France, for example, there is a focus on restoring the traditional agricultural landscape, characterized by various combinations of hedgerows, small fields, stone walls and a patchwork of wooded and meadow areas (Illustrations 7.3a and 7.3b). Degradation of this landscape is relatively recent, for the most part a feature of intensive post-Second World War agriculture, accelerating since the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) of the European community (now the European Union). Estimates of hedgerow loss are as high as 192,000 km for England and Wales (1946-74) and 6000 km for the Grampian region of Scotland (1940s-1970s) (Ghaffar and Robinson, 1997: 211). 'In effect, the agricultural landscape has been the evolving stage upon which the drama of the CAP's price support policies has unfolded via a technologically sophisticated drive for increased productivity' (Ghaffar and Robinson, 1997: 205).

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RESTORED, (P)RESERVED AND CREATED LANDSCAPES

(a)

Image Not Available ILLUSTRATION 7.3 (a) Agricultural landscape with hedgerows, West Lothian, Scotland (by permission of Gordon Waitt) (b)

Image Not Available

ILLUSTRATION 7.3 (b) Land ploughed to edge of hedgerow, East Lothian, Scotland (by permission of Gordon Waitt)

In their study in south-east Scotland Ghaffar and Robinson utilized aerial photographs, questionnaires, historical maps and a geographic information system (GIS). Landscape change in four parishes was seen in both field size and field boundaries. Average field size increased 21.4 per cent between 1972 and 1988. Changes in field boundaries were more variable over this same time period, reflecting attempts at restoration which commenced in the 1980s (Table 7.2 and Figure 7.4). Interest in hedgerow restoration arose out of concern for habitat of birds and small mammals, as well as the attractiveness of the

landscape. Hedgerow replanting has been at the expense of easily removed post-and-wire fencing and was cheaper and less labourintensive than stone wall reconstruction (Table 7.2). There are shifts occurring which need to be considered at several scales. East Lothian reflects broader trends of hedgerow restoration; 25,600 km of hedges were replanted in England between 1984 and 1990. Overall, however, more hedgerows (85,000 km) were removed in England in that period than replanted (Ghaffar and Robinson, 1997: 214). In this respect the CAP has been an agent of

RESTORED LANDSCAPES GOING BACKWARDS? 207

TABLE 7.2 Percentage changes in field boundaries, 1972-88, in four parishes in East Lothian, Scotland Parish

Hedgerows

Post- and-wire fences

Athelstaneford Haddington Morham Prestonkirk

+5.3 +9.3 +41.3 +20.0

Stone walls

Vegetative belts

Tree

Ditches

line

and others

-10.2 -18.7 -26.8

-6.5 -4.3 0

+4.6 +4.2 +3.4

-1.5 -1 1.0 +4.6

+0.1 -4.4 -17.5

-15.4

-11.7

+8.0

+2.4

-II. 1

Image Not Available

Parish boundary

Hedgerows present only in 1972

Hedgerows present only in 1988

Hedgerows present in 1972 and 1988

change in both directions, with the European Union now contributing funds to a number of restoration schemes. In Lower Normandy, France, residents showed a willingness to pay a reasonable amount each year for the restoration and replanting of hedgerows (Bonnieux and Le Goffe, 1997). Ghaffar and Robinson argue that various schemes of environmental restoration, including the designation of Environmentally Sensitive

FIGURE 7.4 Hedgerow replanting, East Lothian, Scotland, 1972-88, based on aerial photographs Source: Reprinted from Geoforum 28, A Ghaffar and G. M. Robinson, Restoring the agricultural landscape: the impact of governmen policies in East Lothain, Scotland, pp. 205-17. Copyright 1997, with permission from Elsevier Science

Areas (ESAs), make farmers 'producers of countryside and landscape and not just suppliers of food'. However, 'farmers' responses to the schemes are extremely varied, resulting in widely differing patterns of uptake and impacts on the landscape' (p. 215). ESAs, now designated in Ireland, Denmark and the Netherlands as well as the UK, are increasingly likely to influence the shape of future European landscapes. In the Scottish

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programme, farmers gain an annual payment 'in return for following a prescribed set of farming practices designed to protect and enhance the environment' (Simpson et al., 1997: 307). Simpson et al. made visual predictions in two contrasting Scottish landscapes Breadalbane in the southern Highlands and the Machair of the Western Isles - with and without conservation policy as contained in ESA prescriptions. They found that the policies will lead to landscapes 'that maintain and increase diversity of land cover and linear features' (p. 317). Without the policies, both landscape structure and botanical diversity would be simplified. Although embedded in desires for 'traditional' landscape and agricultural practice, the central contradiction of the ESA programme is that it depends on non-traditional activities such as fencing off areas for revegetation. 7.2.3

River restoration

River restoration is also most developed in north-west Europe, particularly the UK, and faces many of the same issues as restoration ecology, as Brookes's discussion of definitions shows (Box 7.2). Brookes sees the problems of determining 'pre-disturbance' conditions as practical rather than theoretical ones, and the

Box 7.2 Some definitions of river restoration • (Cairns, 1991) The complete structural and functional return to a pre-disturbance state. • (Gore, 1985) In essence, river restoration is the process of recovery enhancement. Recovery enhancement enables the river or stream ecosystem to stabilize (reach some sort of trophic balance) at a much faster rate than through the natural physical and biological processes of habitat development and colonization. Recovery enhancement should establish a return to an ecosystem which closely resembles unstressed surrounding areas.

relevant timescale being decades and centuries rather than longer. Yet it is clear from long-term studies that rivers change at a range of spatial and temporal scales (Brown and Quine, 1999); the concept of stability being a natural condition has become just as problematic in fluvial geomorphology as in ecology. Further, because floodplains are 'attractors' of human settlement (Brown, 1996), humans have been part of the riverine environment for thousands of years (Brown, 1997b). In practice, most river restoration projects in the UK are best understood as involving 'rehabilitation' (Illustration 7.4) or habitat 'creation' rather than a return to original conditions (Downs and Thorne, 1998). For example, the River Idle in Nottinghamshire was extensively channelized in the early 1980s for drainage and flood mitigation, contributing to low ecological diversity, a poor fishery and low aesthetic value. Rehabilitation provisions included planting in the river corridor; deflectors and riffle installation to increase morphological diversity in the stream channel; and reed planting and fish shelters to enhance habitat (Downs and Thorne, 1998). In addition, catchment-wide measures to reduce sedimentation were proposed, although these are necessarily longer-term objectives.

(Osborne et al., 1993) Restoration programmes should aim to create a system with a stable channel, or a channel in dynamic equilibrium that supports a selfsustaining and functionally diverse community assemblage. (Herricks and Osborne, 1985) Implicit in the concept of water quality restoration is some knowledge of the undisturbed or natural state of the stream system. Restoration of water quality can be defined as returning the concentration of substances to values typical of undisturbed conditions. Source: Brookes (1995)

RESTORED LANDSCAPES GOING BACKWARDS?

Image Not Available

In Germany the 'main objective of stream rehabilitation is the conservation of nature' (Kern, 1992: 324), for which the concept of Leitbild is used. Leitbild 'is a description of the desirable stream properties regarding only the natural potential, not considering the economic or political aspects that influence the realization of a scheme' (p. 325). It is based on three elements, the second and third of which include a sense of past history: •

•

•

natural stream properties (stream pattern, morphodynamics, floodplain morphology, natural flow dynamics and flooding, potential vegetation, etc.); irreversible changes of abiotic and biotic factors (e.g. changes of the run-off regime or sediment transport, dredging of alluvial sediments in the floodplain, extinct species, etc.); aspects of cultural ecology; specific traditional stages of land use caused an increase of species which are endangered by modern agriculture. (Kern, 1992: 325)

In many of these examples, however, the history at issue is hundreds rather than thousands of years old. Channelization of rivers associated with industrial growth is seen to be the most significant change. In the USA restoration is implicitly towards a preEuropean baseline (e.g. Kondolf 1995; Goodwin et al.r 1997). Where the relevance of a prehistoric timescale is acknowledged, the

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ILLUSTRATION 7.4 River rehabilitation: pin groynes designed to accumulate sediment on the bar beneath the opposite bank and prevent erosion of the bank, Taylors Arm, Nambucca catchment, Australia (by permission of Gerald Nanson)

methodological issue of 'how do we know?' is more likely to be engaged with. For example, discussing the Kissimmee River in Florida, Dahm et al. (1995: 226) found that 'insights into presettlement [i.e. pre-European] historical conditions, such as the widespread presence of habitat-forming large woody debris (LWD) or snags are also found in written reports of prechannelized river structure'. For the post-European period, information from archival resources was rendered into GIS maps of river and floodplain change. 7.2.4 The restoration of built structures Issues in the restoration of built structures offer an important comparison to those of continuity and change within biotic landscapes. Various definitions and guidelines used by the International Council of Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) are summarized in Box 7.3. Similarities to ecological restoration include the ideal of fidelity to the original integrity of the place or structure, and the recognition of the broader context or setting of the significant structure. Because the significance is explicitly related to human activity, ICOMOS charters are more likely to acknowledge ongoing human interaction with the site. They are also more likely to refer to multiple periods of use or occupation (e.g. Venice Charter, article 11), rather than allude to a single 'original' state or event. The very limited circumstances in which

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Box 7.3 Restoration and related concepts as used in International Council of Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) charters Venice Charter for the Conservation and Restoration of Monuments and Sites (1964) • Article 9. The aim [of restoration] is to preserve and reveal the aesthetic and historic value of the monument and is based on respect for original material and authentic documents. It must stop at the point where conjecture begins, and in this case moreover any extra work which is indispensable must be distinct from the architectural composition and must bear a contemporary stamp. • Article 11. The valid contributions of all periods to the building of a monument must be respected, since unity of style is not the aim of a restoration. When a building includes the superimposed work of different periods, the revealing of the underlying state can only be justified in exceptional circumstances ... • Article 12. Replacements of missing parts must integrate harmoniously with the whole, but at the same time must be distinguishable from the original so that restoration does not falsify the artistic or historic evidence. • Article 15. Ruins must be maintained and measures necessary for the permanent conservation and protection of architectural features and of objects discovered must be taken ... All reconstruction work should however be ruled out 'a priori'. Only anastylosis, that is to say, the reassembling of existing but dismembered parts can be permitted. The material used for integration should always be recognizable and its use should be the least that will ensure the conservation of a monument and the reinstatement of its form.

The Australia ICOMOS Charter for the Conservation of Places of Cultural Significance (the Burra Charter) (1981) • Article 12. Preservation is limited to the protection, maintenance and where necessary, the stabilisation of the existing fabric [all the physical material of the place] but without the distortion of its cultural significance. • Article 13. Restoration is appropriate only if there is sufficient evidence of an earlier state of the fabric and only if returning the fabric to that state recovers the cultural significance of the place. • Article 14. Restoration should reveal anew culturally significant aspects of the place. It is based on respect for all the physical, documentary and other evidence and stops at the point where conjecture begins. • Article 15. Restoration is limited to the reassembling of displaced components or removal of accretions in accordance with Article 16. • Article 16. The contributions of all periods to the place must be respected. If a place includes the fabric of different periods, revealing the fabric of one period at the expense of another can only be justified when what is removed is of slight cultural significance and the fabric which is to be revealed is of much greater cultural significance. Appleton Charter for the Protection and Enhancement of the Built Environment (1983) • Preservation - retention of the existing form, material and integrity of a site. • Period restoration - recovery of an earlier form, material and integrity of a site. • Rehabilitation - modification of a resource to contemporary functional standards which may involve adaptation for new use. • Period reconstruction - re-creation of vanished or irreversibly deteriorated resources.

PRESERVED LANDSCAPES:FREEZINGTHE PRESENT?

Redevelopment - insertion of contemporary structures or additions sympathetic to the setting. reconstruction is permitted illustrate that this is not an attempt to return to the past. Perhaps the most important difference is that in cultural heritage, the restoration process must explicitly draw attention to itself, and label itself as such (e.g. Venice Charter article 9, Burra Charter article 19). Article 16 of the Venice Charter requires the restoration process to be precisely documented, and the records archived. In other words, by drawing attention to itself as a cultural process, this restoration does not pretend to be 'original' or 'natural'. These issues are illustrated in the story of the rebuilding of the Globe playhouse in London (Mulryne and She wring, 1997b). The original Globe (1599-1613) is inextricably associated with the plays of William Shakespeare, and the rebuilding project is of a cultural landscape in the fullest sense, with many layers of meaning embedded in the timber framing and the plays upon its stage. If a visit for the modern audience is 'an exercise in double vision, present and past' (Mulryne and Shewring, 1997a: 15), the original building itself 'sent forth a double message about the past and the present' (Keenan and Davidson, 1997: 147). While the twentieth-century reads the circular playhouse shape as Elizabethan, in the 1590s such structures evoked classical Roman antiquity, in which tradition the theatrical performance was placed. In the rebuilding process, then, the structure was 'dedicated to theatrical experimentation and revaluation, securely grounded in the later twentiethcentury' (Keenan and Davidson, 1997: 148). There was painstaking attention to the physical aspects of reconstruction, such as timberframing techniques, thatching and internal decoration. On the other hand, the design and construction had to contend with gaps and silences in the historical and archaeological evidence, and the demands of today's safety and building standards. For the proponents of the project the iterative process of craft-based

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http: / / life.csu.edu.au/~dspennem/ VIRTPAST / Conventions / ICOMOS construction mirrored the experimental nature of the theatre that had been and would be performed there, and continued a tradition of interplay between past and present. Some of the public, however, had other ideas: While nobody involved with the 1990s Globe would claim that it is any more than a shadow, a representation, a laboratory for the player and the theatrical historian, there can be no doubt that many visitors will impose their own notion of reality, their own idea of 'secular pilgrimage' upon it. In the summer of 1996, it has been reported that spectators in Elizabethan costume were turned away from a (modern-dress) production of The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Before the structure was even finished, it had been appropriated, theme-parked (by its visitors) and (at the same time) reified, all in direct contradiction to the stated aims of those who have worked for the project and on this book. (Keenan and Davidson, 1997:147)

If people do this to an explicitly and reflexively cultural production, how are they going to interpret ecological restoration which does not draw attention to itself? Will a patch of planted trees be interpreted as a natural forest, and does it matter? For example, in New Zealand, the majority of sphagnum bogs valued as pristine remnants are less than 150 years old, the product of hydrological changes caused by intensive post-European burning and grazing (Wilmshurst and McGlone, 1998). While this does not mean they should not be valued, appropriate management strategies cannot be developed from the wrong history. 7.3 Preserved landscapes: freezing the present? Both philosophical and practical dilemmas of preservation (Illustration 7.5) are exemplified by the situation of rock art. Painting and engraving of rock surfaces is an iterative process, building up over periods as long as

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Image Not Available Illustration 7.5 'Williamsburg, Virginia: the main street with inn and horse-drawn tourist wagon in a "frozen" streetscape/ (by permission of Graham et al. (2000:102)) tens of thousands of years. Over those timescales weathering, erosion, abandonment and reworking are all involved. The rock art story is thus inherently one of both change and continuity. Increasing interest in rock art from heritage and tourist perspectives is couched in terms of preservation and protection, from both biophysical processes and visitor pressures. The often brutal process of colonization brought an abrupt end to living traditions of rock art in many areas, exacerbating perceptions of it as being frozen in time. Although it is recognized that 'the single largest threat to heritage sites

Box 7.4 Rock weathering processes affecting art in Clarens Formation sandstones, South Africa • Rock weathering processes are affected by the mineralogy, rock structure, rock properties and particularly the rock moisture and thermal regimes. • The principal rock weathering mechanisms are thermal stress fatigue; salt crystallization; hydration and dehydration of rock minerals, clay minerals and precipitated salts; solution; hydrolysis and chemical alteration. • The rock moisture regime is the most important environmental control on the weathering processes.

today is the people who visit them' (Jacobs and Gale, 1994:131), rock art will naturally decay in the absence of people. (Some of the physical processes involved are summarized in Box 7.4.) Conservation measures are thus necessarily interventionist, even if they can at most slow down the process of decay. The most common and least intrusive measure is the use of silicone driplines to divert surface water run-off from the art. The use of physical and psychological measures to reduce visitor pressures will be discussed further in Chapter 9. Circulating through any discussion of

• Rock weathering processes cause granular disintegration and the enlargement of pores and bedding planes. • Although there is more than one temporal weathering regime, those most damaging to the rock art are the shortterm changes that affect particularly the rock surface and the area immediately beneath it. • Rock weathering processes are accelerated by existing weathering that produces a more dynamic environment with respect to both the thermal and rock moisture regimes. Source: Wahl (1999: 5), from Meiklejohn (1995)

PRESERVED LANDSCAPES: FREEZING THE PRESENT? 123

restoring and preserving landscapes at the broader scale are different traditions of public and private space and ownership. In New World situations such as the USA, Australia and New Zealand, preservation is usually equated with reservation - the setting aside of public land in forms such as national parks and reserves. In these colonial contexts, public land has been thought of as empty land. Indeed, it is often joked among conservationists that the land available for national parks is the land that is no good for anything else, and of no interest to anyone else. This view of potential reserve land as a blank slate, as terra nullius, is now being challenged by indigenous people, who point out that they have never gone away, although their presence has been rendered invisible by various cultural processes. (These issues will be discussed further in Chapter 8.) This notion of reserved lands being empty of people is quite different from Old World situations, where a long period of human interaction has been impossible to ignore. In the UK, for example, although national parks and nature reserves are important, they are part of a mosaic of public and private land to which there are long traditions of access (Thomas et al., 1997). Although this is not the place to discuss in detail land tenure or the different legislative mechanisms of protection, it is important to be aware that these issues take on increased relevance in particular local situations. Establishment of reserved lands is an important mechanism of habitat and biodiversity protection, particularly in areas of high population growth and increasing land-use pressure. These include situations as different as the relatively small island of Mauritius (Safford, 1997) and China (Jiantian, 1998). However, reservation is not a panacea, and it must be considered within both spatial and social context. Designation of marine parks and reserves in Hong Kong will not necessarily protect local biodiversity from the impacts of intensive urbanization (Jian-Hua and Hills, 1997). Paraguay, for example, has moved within the past 30 years to identify potential reserved land, and the proportion of land in national parks and reserves (3.59 per cent) exceeds both the South American average (2.7

per cent) and that of the USA (2.2 per cent) (Yahnke et al., 1998). However, a lack of research means that the effectiveness of these areas in preserving mammal biodiversity is not yet well understood. Yahnke et al. argue that while landlocked Paraguay does contain rare habitats such as remnant Atlantic coastal forest and dry Chaco (a mosaic of grasslands, palm savannas, open woodlands and xeric thorn forests), research on these has suffered because of the focus on the tropical rainforests further north. The so-called Yellowstone model of national parks, which contain relatively 'pure' public land and are contrasted with the degraded private land of urban spaces, is very much a cultural construction, as we discussed in Chapter 4. It is also quite specific to frontier societies such as the USA and Australia. In most parts of the world the boundaries of reserved lands are more physically and socially permeable. Reserved lands often include residential human activity and subsistence land use of some sort, as opposed to a more recreational focus. Conversely, this permeability illustrates the importance of what is going on outside the boundary. It is increasingly recognized that reserved lands are for the most part too small, too fragmented and too unevenly distributed to provide a framework in which biological processes can continue as normal, let alone respond to accelerated environmental change. The need for corridors to link habitat islands, or stepping stones between refugia, means that combinations of public and private land, across different types of land use, are required. In Tanzania, mammal extinction, even in very large park complexes such as Serengeti National Park-Ngorongoro Conservation Area, is likely to continue unless corridors can be established (Figure 7.5). It has been estimated that ongoing expansion of cultivated areas limits the window during which this could be done to about five years (Newmark, 1996). Issues of fragmentation, patchiness and aggregation need to be considered in both ecological and sociopolitical terms. Park effectiveness is a matter not just of size, but also of shape and spacing. In an assessment of

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SNP/NCA

LMNP

TNP

Primary land use

RNP

Cultivation Pastolarism Game reserve Park

200

400

km

national parks throughout Africa, Siegfried et al. (1998) argued that southern and southcentral African parks are most at threat from edge effects, owing to their large edge to interior ratios. Park separation is greatest in northern Africa, with an average inter-park distance of 2396 km. Both these measures have implications for biotic migration possibilities, and for human activity immediately adjacent to the park (see Chapter 8). The recognition that environmental issues straddle political and cultural boundaries has led to proposals for 'superparks' involving the cooperation of several adjacent nation-states. One proposed between Zimbabwe, South Africa and Mozambique, encompassing existing national parks including Kruger, would need to be funded largely by tourism to pay its own way (Duffy, 1997) (Figure 7.6). The proposal has met resistance for a complex of political reasons, including worries about the exclusion of local people, fears of loss of sovereignty, the dominance and influence of international aid donors and land distribution issues (Duffy, 1997). The ecological goal of reopening wildlife migration

FIGURE 7.5 Location in Tanzania of Kilimanjaro (KNP), Arusha (ANP), Lake Manyara (LMNP), Tarangire (TNP), Ruaha (RNP) national parks, and Serengeti National Park/Ngorongoro Conservation Area (SNP/NCA), and primary land use immediately adjacent to these parks Source: Newmark (1996: figure 1)

routes cannot be met without addressing these issues. Given the great variability in the extent and status of reserved lands, and the range of pressures on non-reserved lands, what are the implications for landscapes and their biotic components to future environmental change? There is an extensive body of literature attempting tests under different scenarios of future climate change, themselves the subject of debate and controversy. It is also important to remember that consideration of climate change should not deflect attention from the ongoing agency of human activity. For example, a study in Mexico suggests that for ecosystems such as tropical forest, projected climate change is much less of a threat than clearance for cattle ranching (Villers-Ruiz and Trejo-Vazquez, 1998). Partly because of the complexity of contributing factors, most simulations of plant response to climate change are projected onto a natural landscape which exists only in the imagination of the computer. Consider the example of Abies alba (silver fir), Acer pseudopla-

PRESERVED LANDSCAPES:FREEZING THE PRESENT 7

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Masvingo Save Valley Conservancy

•Messina

Kruger

\

National Park \

REPUBLIC OF SOUTH AFRICA

III Indian Ocean

Area to be covered by the proposed transborder conservation area

km

FIGURE 7.6 Proposed superpark spanning Zimbabwe, South Africa and Mozambique Source: Duffy (1997: figure 1)

tanus (sycamore) and Quercus ilex (evergreen oak). Their natural distribution in north-west Europe is modelled under the present climate, and all are candidates for northward movement under a global warming scenario (Figure 7.7) (Sykes, 1997). Neither model maps where these tree species really are now, or where they would be under a changed climate, because of human impacts on both those distributions. This is of course recognized by the author in the caption - 'potential' distributions - and in the accompanying text. Crucial to the effective interpretation and use of modelled scenarios is the recognition that none of these species could achieve those distributions independent of human activity. As Sykes argues,

northward migration is hampered by the heavily modified landscape, but could be facilitated by plantations. Acer pseudoplatanus could spread rapidly out of garden cultivation. These and other simulations confirm the palaeoecological findings, discussed in Chapter 3, which show that species migrate individualistically rather than as a community in response to climate change. What do the two bodies of research together suggest about the relevance of the past record to future landscape change? While the question ultimately needs to be answered at the regional and local scales, some broad principles are summarized in Box 7.5.

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Abies alba current climate

Acer pseudoplatanus current climate

Abies alba mean GCM climate

Acer pseudoplatanus mean GCM climate

Image Not Available

Quercus ilex current climate

FIGURE 7.7 Simulated potential distributions of Abies alba, Acer pseudoplatanus and Quercus ilex under the present climate and a mean 2 x CO2 climate as predicted by four atmospheric general circulation models (GCMs) Source: Sykes (1997: figure 2). Copyright Springer-Verlag 1997

CREATED LANDSCAPES:A STEP FORWARD

Box 7.5 Biotic response to future global change: predictions from the past

• Organisms will not be able to achieve evolutionary adaptation on the timescale of forecast changes (1-2 centuries) • Some fragmentation, population reduction, loss of genetic diversity and extinction will occur. • Biomes will not shift as intact entities because species respond differently. Thus new combinations of species will arise. • Large-scale spatial responses may dominate in some regions (e.g. Europe and eastern North America), but elsewhere the scale will be smaller and/or may be less important than shifts within diverse landscapes (e.g. New Zealand, low-latitude mountains) • Large-scale spatial responses are unlikely to be rapid enough to keep up with the changing environment, in the absence of human intervention. Some plant species can migrate fast enough to keep up with projected climatic change, but only if they can migrate through continuous, relatively undisturbed ecosystems. Some species whose dispersal ability is artificially enhanced by humans may be able to migrate quickly enough to remain in equilibrium with changing climate. 7.4 Created landscapes: a step forward? In this final section of the chapter I introduce some examples that help further blur the boundaries between natural and cultural landscapes, between preserved and restored systems, and challenge the linear temporal thinking that much of our vocabulary of change forces us into. An important point here is that it is necessary to be much more explicit about landscape management goals; it is insufficient to allude to the notions of preservation and restoration without explaining them and considering them in context.

117

• Regional prediction is difficult because of spatial variability and individualistic response of taxa, but high-risk areas include high-altitude retreats, coastal areas, isolated oceanic islands, and continental 'cul-de-sacs', e.g. northern tundra. • Global warming events in the Quaternary can provide lessons for biodiversity conservation. • Appropriate conservation strategy varies regionally. • Overall characteristics of taxa vulnerable to extinction can be identified, but not particular taxa themselves. • Presently rare species may be able to exploit disturbed (whether by humans or climate) habitats. • Presently abundant species may be restricted by climate change and/or changing human pressures. • Disturbances (e.g. fire, dieback due to insect attacks, invasion of alien species) are increasing in some regions, leading to increasing mortality and more systems in early successional states. • Most modelled shifts in vegetation distribution were driven by changes in climate, with limited influence from CO2, except in the arid regions. However, direct physiological effects (e.g. response to elevated CO2) can affect species' competitive ability. Source: Summarized from Huntley et al. (1997) and Walker et al (1999) Some 500 km2 of the English Midlands has recently been designated as National Forest symbolically and physically in 'the heart of England'. Within this area tree cover is to be increased from 6 per cent to 30 per cent within 30 years (Bell and Evans, 1997), requiring some 30 million trees to be planted in configurations including commercial plantations, farm woodlands, urban forests and roadside planting (Cloke et al., 1996). The rhetoric surrounding this announcement locates the forest as both a national and an international icon. Nationally, it expresses the enterprise culture, and is presented by the Countryside Commission as providing a millennial symbol of hope for the nation. 'In providing the enduring qualities of

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stability and permanence in a rapidly changing world, the project reinforces the symbolic and material significance of trees and woodlands in British culture' (Bell and Evans, 1997: 259). Internationally, it is seen as contributing to Britain's global environmental responsibilities following the Rio de Janeiro Earth Summit in 1992. The designated area includes towns and villages, ancient woodland and farmland, a patchwork of private land and areas of industrially damaged landscapes. While it was thus suitable for the rehabilitative ambition of 'greening the world', execution of the vision required the support of diverse local populations to be sustained. The process of gaining that support is documented in some detail by Bell and Evans (1997) and Cloke et al. (1996). It will not surprise readers of this book that the creation of this landscape is a complex cultural process: As a creative, rather than solely a conservationist, strategy, its ambitious ideals link closely with broader political, scientific, and popular debates on economic investment, social improvement, and environmental enhancement. Presented as a contribution to global environmental sustainability, the planning design builds upon supposedly distinctive national characteristics, notably a renewed respect for cultural and ecological diversity, and a commitment to popular participation and to a spirit of enterprise. As cultural identities are being recast within Britain, the aim is that the Forest initiative should harmonise national and international interests with specific regional concerns. (Bell and Evans, 1997: 274)

Whether we create new landscapes or preserve or restore elements of old ones, we do so through cultural means, expressing cultural meanings. Explicit engagement with these issues is important in both cases, leading to clearer definition of goals and better outcomes.

7.5 Implications The vocabulary in which we currently express landscape management carries within it temporal references that are not particularly helpful because they imply that it is desirable and possible to return to previous conditions or states. The notions of 'natural', 'original' or 'pristine' landscapes are so problematic in this respect as to be of little practical use. More specific goals (e.g. diversity, complexity, vegetation cover) need to be articulated, with the recognition that these will also have cultural dimensions. The value of the long-term record is not that it specifies those previous conditions or states but that it can illustrate the processes and mechanisms of change, and the conditions under which they occur, e.g. extinctions. It may also allow the identification of conditions under which irreversible thresholds will be or have been crossed. For the purposes of this discussion, all managed landscapes should be understood as cultural landscapes. Policies based on 'preservation', 'restoration' and related terms express certain cultural values, and the mechanisms by which those policies are effected are cultural processes. Failure to recognize this will exacerbate misunderstandings of environmental change. Biotic communities need physical and conceptual space to cope with ongoing environmental change. Human presence and activity is part of virtually all biophysical landscapes, whether reserved or not. Reflection on the human dimensions of the preservation and restoration process is better developed in the cultural heritage than in the ecological literature, and productive interchange can be gained from cross-reading.

Humanized landscapes: a place for people?

8.0 Chapter summary This chapter explores some of the implications of treating people as an integral part of ecosystems. Two main areas are examined: indigenous environmental knowledge and management; and the mostly agricultural issues relating to developing countries. Romantic and dualistic depictions of traditional land use are critiqued. While the prime attachments to land are local ones, larger-scale issues play an increasing role in processes of environmental change in these areas. Examples used include relationships between indigenous and scientific knowledge systems, traditional harvest, fire and legislation, agricultural land adjacent to protected areas, and sacred groves.

at developing countries, and where subsistence agriculture in various forms is the main form of land use. The issues include the following: •

• •

8.1 Living landscapes If we accept that virtually all landscapes have human dimensions, then how do we talk about the role and activities of people in them? This chapter focuses on landscapes in which people live and make a living. We look first at issues of indigenous land use within developed nation states. The main examples come from Australia and New Zealand, but there are parallel debates in many other parts of the world. In some cases these are areas that Western thinking has valued because the human presence was not seen, or was presumed to be of minimal effect - including protected or socalled wilderness areas. In most of these the indigenous presence is a hunter-gatherer one. In the second part of the chapter we look more

• •

What are the implications of acknowledging long-term human presence in these areas, in terms for example of indigenous knowledge, indigenous rights and contemporary land use? What is the interplay of local, regional, national and global processes? In these contexts 'long-term environmental change' includes a variety of social and ecological processes. Many of the environments under discussion have inherently high levels of variability, against which the discernment of mooted future climate change is difficult. They have also undergone substantial environmental change in recent centuries as a result of, for example, colonialism, population growth and population movements. Relationships between social and environmental sustainability. Multiple use and adjacent use.

We acknowledge much of the Old World as so full - of people, settlement and impact - that it goes without saying that preservation of old landscapes necessarily includes humans. Thus in England, debates are about elite versus mass access to protected areas, or recreation versus hunting, rather than about the presence or absence of people. In much of the New World, erasure of aboriginal presences has been so conceptually strong that we still tend to think

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of such areas as empty landscapes, thus aspiring to management of wilderness. In fact the commonalities between Old and New are much greater than we have usually recognized. As in the previous two chapters, there are cross-cutting issues of land tenure and designation here. The hegemony of the 'Yellowstone model' of national parks, under which the ideal park is a 'wilderness' preserve not inhabited on a permanent basis, has influenced many colonial countries (Foster, 1992), but is being challenged by indigenous people who object to being written out of history and the landscape. Outside the boundaries of 'protected' areas various combinations of multiple and overlapping uses can be seen. Biodiversity protection cannot depend on protected areas alone; these are too small, patchy and unevenly distributed. In many areas, such as Australia, some endangered ecosystems are mainly or wholly on indigenous land. 8.2 Indigenous peoples and environmental management Indigenous people are often caught between two stereotypes in these debates: either they are romanticized as the original conservationists, or demonized as hunters of endangered species. The dualism of these views parallels other dualisms we have critiqued in this book: for example, between unoccupied and occupied lands, or between pristine and degraded environments. All have their roots in reconstructed pasts, both human and environmental. To go, then, in this discussion straight to issues such as sustainable hunting without considering the total context in which indigenous landscape management occurs would be premature, and would simply reaffirm the dualism and these essentialisms. We need first to consider how outside views of indigenous land use have been constructed, and how the inside view might differ. The Batek of western Malaysia call themselves batek hep, 'people of the forest' (Lye, 1998). Lye (1998: 2) illustrates the importance of the forest place as 'an enabling mechanism for the continuous production of knowledge', focusing on forest camps (haya') and the connecting

network of trails (harbew, halbew). Both these important landscape features combine old places, which incorporate memory of past events and peoples, with newly established ones. Movement along the trails facilitates constant engagement with the forest. This patchwork of trails and camps leaves ecological traces of the Batek's history, and in turn shapes people's future experiences of the forest. Within this context, change is relevant at two scales. At the scale of constant participation in the forest, change is rapid and minutely observed, as disused trails become overgrown, new gaps are opened by animals, and so on. The Batek value both their mobility and their need to live in the forest; both of these are becoming much more difficult with the development pressures on forests, and government attempts to resettle forest people elsewhere. The Penan of Sarawak are also Malaysian forest dwellers on whose lives logging has had a dramatic effect, but they are much better known to a Western audience because of the involvement of Western environment groups in their campaigns. For many organizations the Penan became icons of resistance to forest destruction (Brosius, 1997). On the basis of his own ethnographic research, Brosius discusses several ways in which complex patterns of Penan life were represented simplistically by the conservation movement. The one of most relevance to our discussion is the way in which concepts of landscape were treated. Brosius's documentation of the role of habitual activity in the construction of Penan landscape knowledge also has interesting parallels with the Batek, although with an emphasis on rivers instead of trails: The importance of rivers to the Penan can scarcely be underestimated. In an environment where visibility seldom exceeds 200 ft, these rivers and streams form the skeleton around which environmental knowledge is organized.... When traveling in the forest, Penan are always cognizant of their precise location relative to various rivers. ... To Penan however, the landscape is more than simply a vast, complex network of rivers. Above all it is a reservoir of detailed ecological knowledge and a repository for the memory of past events. (Brosius, 1986: 174-5, cited in Brosius, 1997: 59)

INDIGENOUS PEOPLES AND ENVIRONMENTAL MANAGEMENT

In the environmentalist literature the knowledge, and the forest, is transformed. Tor the Penan this forest is alive, pulsing, responsive in a thousand ways to their physical needs and their spiritual readiness' (Davis, 1990: 98, cited in Brosius, 1997: 60). 'To walk in God's forest is to tread through an earthly paradise where there is no separation between the sacred and the profane, the material and the immaterial, the natural and the supernatural' (Davis, 1990, cited in Brosius, 1997: 60). For Brosius, these and related transformations, for example of Penan concepts of resource stewardship, have more to do with the Western romantic tradition than with Penan ideas. They constitute 'a strategy by which a pattern of recognizing landscape and encoding knowledge about that landscape is transformed into an obscurantist, essentializing discourse which in fact elides the substantive features of that knowledge' (Brosius, 1997: 60). In a sense there is nothing new about this. Primitivist depictions of indigenous people have a long history that goes back beyond nineteenth-century Victorian anthropology (Kuper, 1988; Kuklick, 1993). The extension of similar discourses into conservation debates has been recognized by a variety of authors. For example, Ramos (1994) traces the historical links in the Brazilian Amazon between first European colonization and the 1989 European tour by rock singer Sting and the Kaiapo chief Raoni: The reasoning seems to follow a straightforward exercise in western logic: unspoiled nature is pure; the Indian is part of nature; therefore, the Indian is pure. Such purity then becomes associated with the wisdom that the whiteman once had but has lost on his way to technological progress and with it to the destruction of his environment. Now the whiteman badly needs to recover his lost wisdom in order to preserve, no longer simply a nation, but the planet. (Ramos, 1994: 79)

The historical roots of the discourse, and the implicit conflation of contemporary indigenous people with human origins, show that there are complex issues here. There are also important debates about means and ends. We need to tease them out in order to discuss the nitty-gritty of contemporary land management.

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In the Penan instance, Brosius argues, both the forests and the Penan are 'endangered' because neither are valued by the Malaysian government. Environmentalists have thus had to show value and make them narratable to both the government and to Western audiences. Penan knowledge thus becomes reduced to 'the sacred or ineffable' and, like the forests themselves, represents 'the last whisper of an ancient past' (Brosius, 1997: 64). This imposes imaginary meanings on Penan knowledge, and obscures others. Further, 'it paradoxically makes generic precisely the diversity that it is trying to advance' (p. 65); thus indigenous peoples become universalized as 'forest peoples', people with 'sacred ecologies', and bearers of universal wisdom (cf. Suzuki and Knudtson, 1992). Obscuring the variable conditions under which indigenous ecological knowledge is defined, produced and transmitted reduces our ability to utilize its insights in anything other than idealistic ways, an issue that is pursued further below. In contrast to the romanticist position, there is both environmentalist and scientific literature that focuses on indigenous hunting. Again this often pays insufficient attention to the broader context in which usage takes place. There is reference to hunting pressures (Bodmer et al., 1997), endangered species, extinctions past and present, and the desirability of (and difficulty of defining) sustainable use (Bomford and Caughley, 1996). Now all these are important, but, as argued by Langton et al. (1999: 3-4), '"conservation", cannot be used in a presumed commonsense way ... without bringing within the ambit of the term some of the cultural differences often overlooked in the conservation literature'. Other concepts which must also be examined for their cultural dimensions include traditional or indigenous knowledge systems, resources, traditional rights, and biodiversity itself. While challenging, and potentially controversial, these issues cannot be ignored. In many parts of the world, it is no longer possible to discuss conservation and land management issues without considering indigenous involvement (Box 8.1). In Australia, for example, there are several reasons - both intellectual and practical - for doing so:

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HUMANIZED LANDSCAPES:A PLACE FOR PEOPLE?

Box 8.1 Aboriginal aspirations and strategies in relation to environmental issues in Australia Aspirations in relation to environmental issues: • appropriate Indigenous ownership and management of lands and waters; • a desire for appropriate legislative recognition of Indigenous resource rights and protection of cultural and intellectual property; • adequate resourcing of Indigenous conservation initiatives; • binding agreements in relation to development projects which entrench Indigenous land ownership, long-term economic and social benefits for local communities and achievable standards of cultural and environmental protection; • greater intergovernmental coordination and better administration of heritage protection regimes to achieve recognition of Indigenous cultural values; • local and regional management planning for sustainable use, including multiple uses, of terrestrial, marine and coastal resources for the benefit of Indigenous inhabitants; • some strategies which have been used in Indigenous conservation management and planning:

'Land and water subject to Indigenous ownership and governance constitutes a ... substantial proportion of the Australian continent.' Significant proportions of particular ecosystems are under indigenous control, for example arid-zone ecosystems and rangelands. 'A proportion of those lands and waters within the Indigenous domain remain subject to Indigenous management systems which have persisted since the late

(a) cooperation of Indigenous knowledge and tradition with non-Indigenous expertise to achieve high-quality assessment, planning, management and monitoring, particularly in commercial utilization of plant and animal products; (b) development of regional plans, particularly at the catchment level in coastal north Australia; (c) such regional plans, based on multiple uses of landscapes, are essential for the long-term control of feral animals and plants; (d) in achieving conservation objectives, traditional practices alone are no match for the rapid population and development of Indigenous territories by the settler state. Indigenous people and their local and regional bodies require collaborative relationships with individuals and organizations in order to meet particular, identified challenges. Success in such collaboration depends on highly qualified and experienced collaborators with a high level of commitment to the integrity of Indigenous laws. (e) Such measures as these have the potential of overcoming the conflict over resource use which has typified relations between Indigenous, conservation and industry groups. Source: Langton et al (1999:114-15)

Pleistocene, and include, for instance, the wet tropics and the wet-dry tropics, parts of which are listed as World Heritage Areas and other IUCN categories.' 'Within the Indigenous domain, there are Indigenous systems of governance, both customary and contemporary, with significance for the conservation challenges of this area.' These include particularly the knowledge systems built up over many thousands of years. (Langton et al., 1999: 6)

INDIGENOUS PEOPLES AND ENVIRONMENTAL MANAGEMENT

8.2.1 Knowledge and classification systems

Explicit consideration of the relationship between indigenous and scientific knowledge systems has been a theme of research into the fauna of Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park (Baker and Mutitjulu community, 1992; Baker et al, 1993). The main distinction between the two knowledge systems is that between evolutionary theory and Linnaean taxonomy and the religious and social law of the Tjukurpa (see also Chapter 6) (Baker and Mutitjulu community, 1992). For the most part there is great complementarity between the two systems, to such an extent that traditional ecological knowledge can be used as a rapid survey technique (Baker and Mutitjulu Community, 1992: 185). In general, Anangu can frame the scientific knowledge into more of a regional and landscape context. 'For example, Anangu noted the importance of claypans associated with acacia shrublands, which provide water for many animals and thereby cause some of them to stay in such areas longer' (p. 185). There are also differences, some expressions of which are summarized in Table 8.1. Time is a key element of Anangu knowledge. In particular it depends on lifetimes of observation, through many different environmental conditions. Maintenance of knowledge and transmission to the next generation requires continuous interaction with country. Among the profound cultural differences between colonial and indigenous environ-

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mental understandings are the different conceptualizations of native and introduced biota. There are interesting parallels here between Aotearoa/New Zealand and Australia; in both places non-indigenous conservationists see native as good and introduced as bad. The New Zealand National Parks Act requires eradication of introduced species, although, as Kirikiri and Nugent note, there are exceptions. Valued introduced species such as trout and wild horses are in practice excluded. For many Maori, on the other hand, a more pragmatic and less clear-cut distinction is made. Useful introduced animals such as wild pig are accepted, if they are perceived not to have adverse effects on native biota (Kirikiri and Nugent, 1995:58). In central Australia many introduced animals are recognized by Aboriginal people as having been incorporated into the ecosystem. In some cases they are also now covered by Aboriginal law: 'Wild pussy cat from here, some rabbit from here too. Pussy cat got Dreaming, some wild pussycat got Law' (quoted in Rose, 1995: 122). In such cases, or where feral animals have become important food resources, Aboriginal people will often oppose eradication programmes. The effects of feral animals on the country are not seen as a cause for concern. It is seen as a natural phenomenon that animals eat the grass and raise a bit of dust. To separate the impact of feral animals from native species on these grounds is not seen as logical. People see the contemporary ecosystem as an integrated whole so they don't see some species as belonging while others do not.

TABLE 8.1 Examples of differences in Anangu and scientific environmental understandings issue

Differences

Taxonomy

»

Distribution

Anangu group some that scientists identify as separate species, and vice versa.

•

Anangu provided names of animals not caught in the scientific survey.

•

Anangu increased the species list by recording signs and tracks of animals.

•

Anangu identified 23 spp. restricted to spintfex, with at least another 13 using but not restricted to. Scientists identified 27 spp. as restricted and 15 using but not restricted. Only 12 spp. jointly recognized as restricted.

Ecosystem dynamics

Life history

Scientific survey carried out over three wet years.Anangu could document impact of dry years, e.g. •

Tarkawara (spinifex hopping mice) caching spinifex seed (unrecorded in scientific literature)

•

Identified refuge areas.

Anangu documented parental care in some reptiles (unrecorded in scientific literature)

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In many areas feral animals are looked on as a resource of the country. Their presence confirms that the land is productive and people derive pleasure from seeing them in the wild. (Rose, 1995:128)

This is not a simple situation, and discussion of it should not be divorced from an awareness that, because of alienation from land and its radical alteration since European settlement, subsistence choices for most Aboriginal people are extremely limited. Nevertheless, Rose emphasizes, there are significant differences between Aboriginal and European understandings of conservation management. Unlike European land managers, who seek to understand and manage their environment, Aboriginal people base their management on practices which have evolved through interaction. Aboriginal people see themselves as being an integral part of the environment and its dynamics rather than seeking to manipulate the natural world from outside. (Rose, 1995: 90)

In another example, Povinelli records the amusement and frustration of Belyuen women who are continually being asked by researchers to show them 'traditional' foods; 'All of these bush foods are Aboriginal, mangoes and everything, animals too, cows; let the researchers photograph anything now' (1993:128). There is a parallel view among ecologists aware of the profundity of post-European landscape change, particularly in arid areas of Australia. 'There are no "natural" arid systems. Man will always have the responsibility because man, both black and white, has altered the land by his activities' (Graetz, 1988:138). These issues relate back to questions of restoration discussed in Chapter 7. The convergence of Aboriginal and ecological views about thresholds of change in certain parts of Australia is just one example of the profound rethinking going on. Indigenous knowledge has the potential to make a significant contribution to areas of identified need in biodiversity research - for example, the need to •

examine diversity at scales other than species, i.e. genetic diversity, functional type diversity, and, at larger scales, landscape diversity to understand the interactions within and between these

•

levels of organization, the effects on trophic pathways, and the consequences for ecosystem functioning; understand the resource requirements and population dynamics of species most responsible for ecosystem functioning, i.e. keystone and dominant species, especially in fragmented landscapes. (Sala et al., 1999: 305)

8.2.2 Tradition and change, localness and globalization Indigenous ecological knowledge is often valued for its traditionality and its relationship to specific localities; it is seen as detailed, place specific and built up over very long periods of time. Questions arise, then, about the resilience of such systems of environmental management in a context of rapid change and globalization. For example, in discussing hema, local traditional forms of maintaining sustainability in Saudi Arabia, Saleh (1997) has queried the extent to which they can be maintained in more centralized political systems. As in other examples in this chapter, much of the sustainability at issue is cultural in nature. The idea that indigenous environmental knowledge is necessarily local and at a disadvantage against the 'whole Earth' perspective that Western scientific conservation claims for itself is challenged by some indigenous leaders. If we admit that Aboriginal people are fully sentient and intellectual beings, we can admit that they would engage with the effects of the global economy and information society, and that they would bring to these problems interesting and innovative approaches. Sustainable use of natural resources presents options for evolving Aboriginal approaches to the stewardship of their estates. Such approaches, so far, have been based, in part, on the notion that commercial valuation of wildlife constitutes a fundamental protective measure for sustaining populations of species under threat by human impacts. The valuation itself accords the species a status as a potentially non-renewable resource; it must be sustainably managed to enable reproduction. Thus Aboriginal people have an economic preference for involvement in small-scale harvesting ventures, including 'killer' herds of cattle, crocodile egg harvesting, buffalo harvesting and bio-prospecting. (Langton, 1998: 29)

INDIGENOUS PEOPLES AND ENVIRONMENTAL MANAGEMENT

An example is provided by the Bawinanga Aboriginal Corporation's project to harvest saltwater crocodile eggs, which began in order to stop non-Aboriginal attempts to open up the resource on Aboriginal land (Langton, 1998). Local people gather the eggs from a number of river systems in central Arnhem Land. After hatching they are transported to a Darwin agency which sells them to domestic and international markets. Monitoring of the project by scientists and Aboriginal staff demonstrates the sustainability of the harvest (Webb et al, 1996). However, In 1997 senior elders of the local clans rejected a proposal for a trial harvest of adult saltwater crocodiles for the skin trade and local subsistence use of meat, reasoning that commercial harvesting of adults ran counter to the great respect accorded in customary beliefs to these creatures. The religious observance of the ancestral crocodile totemic being in ceremonial life is regionally important, uniting all human descendants and their reptilian cohorts in common interest, and considered to be of great consequence. (Langton, 1998: 64-5)

8.2.3 Traditional harvest The question of 'traditional harvest' is a major area of contention in Aotearoa/New Zealand debates about wildlife utilization. As we saw in Chapter 7 in relation to vegetation, the prehuman past is sufficiently close in time to be a constant point of reference. At particular issue are Maori attempts to re-establish rights to harvest native birds, with strong opposition from conservationists, predominantly Pakeha (New Zealanders of European descent). Although Maori rights were ostensibly guaranteed by the 1840 Treaty of Waitangi, a series of bird conservation laws enacted since 1862 have effectively prevented Maori from exercising them (Kirikiri and Nugent, 1995; Taiepa et al, 1996). This debate is intertwined in public consciousness with the extinction of the largest and most vulnerable bird species, particularly the moa, shortly after human settlement. (Aotearoa/New Zealand had no terrestrial mammals other than two species of bat, so questions of faunal use are focused on birds,

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fish and sea mammals.) 'Approximately 30% of the bird species present before human settlement became extinct before 1800, with most of those extinctions probably occurring in the first few centuries of Maori occupation' (Kirikiri and Nugent, 1995: 54). By the time of European arrival, a complex of regulatory procedures was in place: The regulation of harvest was achieved mainly by a combination of tapu (religious restriction) and rahui (temporary ban) imposed and administered by rangatira (tribal chiefs) and tohunga (experts in the lore relating to natural resources). Fear of divine retribution generally ensured nearabsolute compliance with tapu and rahui, and provided a highly effective enforcement system. If divine retribution failed, more down-to-earth measures like muru (confiscation of resources) were enacted. (Kirikiri and Nugent, 1995: 56)

While some have equated this system with a Western conservation ethic, Kirikiri and Nugent liken it more to game management, designed as it was to maximize the harvest and its condition. 'Maori relied heavily on a method of preserving foods such as birds and kiore [the Polynesian rat, Rattus exulans, introduced to Aotearoa/New Zealand by the first settlers] in their own fat, so most harvests were timed to coincide with peak fatness' (p. 56). Moller (1996: 93) reports public debates which question Maori spiritual and philosophical commitment to conservation, often with reference to past extinctions. If traditional kaitiakitanga (principles of environmental stewardship) failed to prevent those extinctions in the past, many argue, how can it be relied upon today? (For discussion of parallel debates in Australia, see Langton, 1998; Head, 2000). This shows how important it is for researchers and commentators carefully to dissect the debates, and the processes which are under discussion. There are many issues in this debate; we focus here on the cultural differences. Some details of these differences are presented in Box 8.2, and an overview provided here. To Kirikiri and Nugent the Western separatist perspective is seen in the view that nature occurs 'principally in the network of reserves and wild places beyond the developed lands in which native species survive only if human interference is minimal or solely protective' (1995:

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HUMANIZED LANDSCAPES:A PLACE FOR PEOPLE?

Box 8.2 Summary of responses to the New Zealand Conservation Authority's (NZCA) 1994 Discussion Paper,'Maori customary use of native birds, plants and other traditional materials' Differences Issue

Dominant Maori response

Dominant Pakeha response

Overall ethic

Sustainable use

Preservationist

Hunting of native birds

Important part of culture

Highly offensive total protection necessary

Rongoa/medicinal plants

Of major concern access and protection needed

Virtually ignored as an issue

Icon species

A number of species important, including seals in the South, and whales for meat in some coastal areas

Kereru/kukupa/pigeon Toroa/albatross Kuaka/godwit Titi/muttonbirds totara

Harvesting

Sustainability is possible

Will lead to 'slaughter' and 'extinction'

Management frameworks

Many iwi/trtbes have prepared extensively researched Resource Management Policy statements setting out appropriate kawa/protocols. Distrust of government and bureaucracy. Criticism of boundaries between land, coast & sea

Legislation and Crown control necessary, Maori seen as lacking in skills, knowledge and commitment

Treaty of Waitangi

Guarantees customary use and participation in management and decisionmaking

Treaty is 150 years old - Maori should move into modern world

Traditional foods

Have cultural significance over and above food value

Why is traditional harvest necessary when many other foods available?

Pakeha impact on NZ

Pakeha now demanding that Maori bear the sacrifice of I5O years of despoliation

Conservation as part of NZ heritage - 'clean green paradise'

INDIGENOUS PEOPLES AND ENVIRONMENTAL MANAGEMENT

Common ground between Maori and Pakeha 1. Commitment to fundamental conservation - the demand that nothing more is lost or damaged. Often expressed in terms of quality of experience for future generations. 2. Opposition to uncontrolled harvesting or illegal poaching of native birds and plants. 3. Commitment to participation and demand of the right to be heard and aspirations considered. 58). That national park system has become a powerful symbol of national identity for the colonial Pakeha society, which 'has found a collective national identity from New Zealand's unique and internationally renowned biota and wild places' (Taiepa et al., 1996: 6). An interesting exception to the Pakeha preservationist approach is the management of marine and freshwater organisms, where sustainability of harvest, rather than nonutilization, is the issue (Moller, 1996: 94). For Maori, the relationship with native flora and fauna traditionally was and still is far less separatist; this is not just a reflection of their longer

Box 8.3 The Rakiura/Stewart Island titi harvest Titi (sooty shearwater) are one of the most abundant southern-hemisphere birds. Like other shearwaters they are trans-equatorial migrants, over-wintering in the North Pacific and breeding on southern coasts in summer. The Rakiura/Stewart Island (Figure 8.1) titi harvest is the last full-scale bird harvest left substantively in Maori control. (Another species, the short-tailed shearwater, Puffinus tenuirostris, has long been important to Aboriginal people in the Bass Strait islands of northern Tasmania (Skira, 1996).)

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4. General acceptance of plant use for weaving and panelling work (but Pakeha concern about use of large timber species for carving). 5. There is a Pakeha tradition of wildlife use, based on a European hunting culture. The traditional rights of duckshooters and trout fishermen are defended. 6. Need for research and funding. Source: Cooper (1995). Based on 380 written submissions and a series of consultative meetings history in New Zealand, but also as a reflection of their world view of humans as part of the natural environment ... the very right to harvest placed on them a duty to care for and protect natural resources from 'within' the ecosystem. (Kirikiri and Nugent, 1995: 58; see also Moller, 1996)

In practice, a truly bicultural approach to resource management issues will have to acknowledge these differences and find common ground between them (Cooper, 1995). The Rakiura / Stewart Island titi harvest and associated research provides one example (Box 8.3). People leave their mainland homes on 15 March each year to travel to their respective islands to take titi, a process that has both cultural and economic value. According to muttonbirders Margaret Bragg and Jane Davis, Many descendants of those tupuna (ancestors) walk those same manu (birding grounds) as their people did before them. Rakiura Maori speak of 'ahi kaa' - that is, they have kept their fires burning for succeeding generations. Each year Rakiura Maori return to their turangawaewae, their place of their ancestors, their place to stand on ancestral land. (Taiepa et al, 1996:14)

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HUMANIZED LANDSCAPES:A PLACE FOR PEOPLE?

The titi harvest is governed by a strict Maori code of regulations, sanctioned by the New Zealand government. However, it is still the subject of criticism from Pakeha environmental groups. Mindful of these criticisms, Rakiura Maori have established a joint research project with a University of Otago team. The aims of the research are to: • measure the current level of titi harvest and advise on whether it is sustainable (to avoid overexploitation); • estimate maximum sustainable yield of titi; • determine what sets the limit of the present titi harvest levels (so that impacts of any future changes to technologies or practices can be predicted); • determine the diet of titi (so that future studies on their food species can identify threats to titi); • begin research on impacts other than harvest on titi (e.g. climate change, by catch, pollution);

• record and compare the understanding of titi ecology, harvest impacts and management practices generated from traditional Maori environmental knowledge and Kaitiakitanga with that from Western ecological science and wildlife management. Setting up this sort of collaborative research involves learning and trust on both sides. It takes much longer, and is much more labour-intensive, than setting up a 'pure' scientific study. About 90 per cent of the discussion centred on the social aims and methods to be employed, and 10 per cent on the science itself. A formal 'cultural safety' contract was drawn up to protect Rakiura Maori intellectual property rights related to their traditional ecological knowledge. The scientific data are jointly owned by them and the University of Otago, and must be published, no matter what the results show. Source: Summarized from Moller (1996) and Taiepa et al. (1996)

FIGURE 8.1 The Rakiura Titi Islands, southern New Zealand Source: Taiepa et al. (1996: figure 2)

INDIGENOUS PEOPLES AND ENVIRONMENTAL MANAGEMENT

8.2.4 Overlapping landscapes: landscapes of fire

For many Aboriginal people in northern Australia the use of fire is a fundamental aspect of fulfilling responsibilities to their land. While

129

ecologists and palaeoecologists have focused on the long-term ecological impacts of such fires, the rationale for the practitioners is in the first instance social. Aboriginal people speak of using fire for 'cleaning', 'caring for' and 'looking after' country. (Unburnt country is often understood as 'dirty' or 'wild' country.) Thus a human signature is imprinted on the landscape, and the wild is brought into the human sphere. In contrast, fire seared itself into the consciousness of many early white Australians as the enemy, a force of destruction. This cultural understanding of fire survives in the hostility of tourists to burnt national parks, in slogans like 'Western Australia ... too lovely to litter, too lovely to burn', and in the heroic comparisons which are made each summer between Australia's firefighters and its war dead. There has been a similar understanding in those strands of ecological thought which characterize fire as disturbance rather than as a natural part of ecosystems. Legislation relating to fire management in Australia's Northern Territory acknowledges only the second of these perceptions of fire, mentioning only the need to 'prevent' and 'control' fire, and nothing of the possibility of using fire actively in the landscape (Hughes, 1995; Head and Hughes, 1996; Illustrations 8.1a and 8.1b). It is likely, however, that Aboriginal rights and obligations to burn country are protected by the more recent Native Title Act;

ILLUSTRATION 8.1 (a) Biddy Simon and Polly Wandanga dig for goanna in burnt pandanus woodland, Keep River area, Northern Territory, Australia, (b) In contrast, the Bushfires Council of the Northern Territory proclaims, 'We like our lizards frilled not grilled' road sign, Victoria Highway

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HUMANIZED LANDSCAPES:A PLACE FOR PEOPLE?

this is just one of the environmental management issues which are being worked through in the context of debates over native title. 8.3 Developing countries There are several important themes in the literature on the human landscapes of change in developing countries. These have both similarities and differences with the discussion on indigenous environmental management: • •

•

The relationship between social and environmental sustainability (e.g. O'Riordan, 1998); This reiterates the point already made that sociocultural thresholds can be just as important as ecological ones for environmental outcomes; A number of case studies demonstrate that the support and involvement of local peoples are crucial determinants of the success of conservation projects (Zimmerer and Young, 1998).

The pace of change is again identified as a crucial issue. In the Andean context Young (1998: 91) distinguishes between 'old' and 'new' frontiers of land use: Long-term impacts, accumulated over centuries, have transformed many Andean landscapes, and other long-settled regions, in ways that make them useful to subsistence agriculturalists. Very different are the new frontiers, where current economic processes and road construction are driving deforestation and other land-cover modifications over decadal time periods. ... Prompt action is required to protect intact landcapes from deforestation and to reconnect them regionally. In contrast, deforestation is not the critical issue on old frontiers. Instead, the sustainable use of forest products and the implementation of restoration practices are more appropriate goals. 8.3.1 Adjacent landscapes: protected areas and agricultural land Human-wildlife conflict, particularly at the interface between agricultural land and wildlife habitat, is seen as a major conservation problem in Africa, reducing local support for

conservation efforts. A systematic study around Kibale National Park, Uganda, showed that fields within 500 m of the forest boundary lost an average of 4-7 per cent of crops per season (Naughton-Treves, 1998). The distribution of damage was variable (Table 8.2); elephants, for example, inflicted catastrophic but rare losses. A particularly interesting finding was that damage caused by livestock is comparable to or exceeds that caused by wildlife. However, farmers rarely complain about livestock damage, because 'livestock are providing people benefits and ... communities have established rules of restitution for livestock damage. Under customary law, the owner of a goat or cow must compensate the victim if his or her animals cause crop damage' (Naughton-Treves, 1998: 164). Government, as 'owners' of wildlife and the park, are seen as bad neighbours because they do not offer compensation. As Naughton-Treves points out: From a national or international perspective, a loss of 4-7% of planted fields within 500 m of Kibale's boundary appears a trivial price for maintaining threatened habitat and biological diversity. Some would argue that the zone of heaviest crop loss (<200 m from the forest boundary) provides about 3000 ha of 'extra' habitat for wildlife at Kibale. But living within this 'extra' habitat are approximately 4000 farmers who are frustrated and occasionally overwhelmed by crop loss to wildlife and who cannot legally utilize their full range of traditional defensive strategies, such as hunting. Moreover, estimates of average losses mask the great variation in amounts lost by different farmers and villages. To the farmer who has lost an entire year's production in a single night to elephants, average losses are meaningless. (1998: 165-6) Attitudes to livestock, however, provide a lesson in terms of building local tolerance for wildlife. Farmers need to benefit directly from wildlife conservation, for example through access to game meat, legalized hunting of bushpigs in fields, tourism revenue and employment opportunities. Similar issues apply in Namibia, where conversion of wildlife habitat to agricultural land is seen as a major cause of biodiversity loss (Richardson, 1998). The returns to wildlife utilization can be shown to be greater than

DEVELOPING COUNTRIES

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TABLE 8.2 Amount and distribution of crop damage by animals around Kibale National Park Animal

Scientific name

Redtail monkey

Cercopithecus ascanius

Livestock

Copra sp.,

No. of events

Percentage relative to

Percentage of farms

total area

(n = 97)

1252

15

88

414

8

79

Bos sp.

Olive baboon

Papio cynacephalus

228

24

72

Bushpig

Potamocherus procus

208

15

72

Palm civet

Nandinia binotata

38

1

26

Chimpanzee

Pan troglodytes

146

7

15

Elephant

Loxodonta africana

34

21

8

Black and

Colobus guereza

II

<|

8

African civet

Civeaictis dvetta

12


4

Crested porcupine

Hystr/x

6


3

103

2

2

white colobus

africae-australis Vervet monkey

Cercop/tftecus aethiops

Red duiker

Cephalaphus spp.

6


2

Bushback

Tragelaphus scriptus

3


i

those for livestock (Table 8.3). However, there are a range of reasons why wildlife utilization is not more popular with communal farmers: • •

•

This illustrates further the complex interaction of processes at different scales. As Richardson argues,

'the problem of global biodiversity conservation Game farming requires different becomes one of developing mechanisms to management skills and more infrastructure compensate developing countries for conserving than livestock. diversity.... If the international community wishes The returns to wildlife tourism do not to preserve biological diversity in Namibia, it must pay for it, as development efforts will continue to accrue exclusively to the community, but put pressure on a dwindling global supply of also benefit private companies and the wildlife habitats and biodiversity. (1998:557) state. People are likely to stick with livestock farming while it is significantly subsidized by the state, e.g. through provision of 8.3.2 Sacred groves waterpoints and veterinary services Different issues emerge when we consider (Richardson, 1998: 555-6). human activity in relation to plant conser-

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TABLE 8.3 Estimated returns to livestock and wildlife utilization enterprises on communal land in Caprivi, Namibia, 1993 Financial return (N$ per annum)

Livestock

Wildlife

Net revenue

2,753,486

3,568,545

Net revenue Per ha Per kg Per household

1.41 0.10 384

1.83 0.4! 498

556,369

3,11l,795

Net revenue (excl. subsidies)

Source: After Richardson (1998:Table 4), simplified Note: Livestock returns come from slaughter for meat sale and from hiring out of draught power. Wildlife returns arise from a combination of phototourism, trophy hunting, cropping and live sale

vation in the 'sacred groves' of West Africa. Yet, as with the case of wildlife, perhaps the crucial issue is the interplay between international and national protective mechanisms and local traditions and aspirations. Sacred groves are forest fragments varying in size from single trees to hundreds of hectares, protected from excessive disturbance by a variety of social and religious mechanisms. There are about 2000 such groves in Ghana, and they are also known from India and north-eastern Thailand (Decher, 1997). In Chapter 61 made reference to sacred groves as part of World Heritage cultural landscapes in the Philippines and Zimbabwe. The term 'sacred grove' glosses over a great deal of social and ecological variability; we concentrate here on some of the common issues. According to Decher (1997: 1011), 'the ecological value of sacred groves rests on the fact that most of them have been more or less undisturbed for up to several hundred years'. He reports on (unresolved) debate over whether the groves 'are remnants of the original climax vegetation' (p. 1011); as we saw in Chapter 3, these debates are enormously problematic in the context of tropical rainforest and wet-dry forests. As Decher's own study shows, lack of disturbance does not equal lack of use. In Ghana, traditional religion, centred on a deity called Kpalevorgu, has been effective in protection of the groves from fuelwood cutting. However, they are used as a source of

hardwoods, fruits, medicinal plants and small game (Figure 8.2). In India, sacred groves have been found to contain threatened plant species. They are also sources of rattan (Calamus sp.), considered a sacred plant by some groups, and of fuelwood and valuable timber (Decher, 1997: 1012). All such patches provide important small mammal habitat. In a context of population growth and landuse pressure, it is not hard to see the ecological threats to patchy forests: 'over-exploitation of resources, clear-cutting, bush fires, and the introduction of exotic plants' (Decher, 1997: 1016). Yet what is most striking about the evidence assembled by Decher is that the most relevant aspects of resilience and fragility to be discussing are the intricate networks of sociocultural process by which the groves are currently maintained. These make a mockery of any simple designation of legal or heritage protection. In India, for example, breaking of the taboo by even moderate Forest Department use would lead to poaching of wood by villagers. Writers on the Ghanaian situation emphasize that with the gradual breakdown of traditional religion, survival of the groves depends on local people developing non-religious incentives. Incorporation of groves into the national reserve system could be counterproductive if it takes away local jurisdiction. The idea of 'sacred groves' is an iconic one for Western conservation interests, with both forest fragments and local people providing

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FIGURE 8.2 Some uses of common tree and climber species found in sacred groves on the Accra Plains, Ghana Source: After Decher (1997: table 1). By permission of Kluwer Academic Publishers

images of the vulnerability of biodiversity before the advancing wave of development. While there is truth in this imagery, it is important not to obscure the specific and variable processes involved. The sacred grove is not an arena of human absence; on the contrary, active human intervention has been crucial to its maintenance. The most significant 'thresholds of irreversibility' in this instance may be cultural rather than ecological. 8.3.3 Contesting the iconography of climax forests

Sagarmatha National Park (SNP), Nepal, on the southern flanks of Mt Everest (Figure 8.3), also has iconic status within international conservation. Created at a time (1976) when the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) criteria specified a national

park to be 'not materially altered by human exploitation and occupation ... [and] where the highest competent authority ... has taken steps to prevent or eliminate as soon as possible exploitation in the whole area' (Brower and Dennis, 1998: 187), SNP has long been home to the Sherpa people. Management debates in recent decades have revolved around a particular dimension of human activity, its impact on the region's forest landscape. Brower and Dennis argue that 'arbor-centric management persists despite a growing uncertainty about the processes that shape the area's forest landscape ... and in the face of continuing local resentment about the infringement of accustomed access to resources' (p. 185). Thinking about human impacts on the forests of the Khumbu area where SNP is located is tied into wider debates about original

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forest states that are themselves heavily influenced by Clementsian views of succession. Like many of the sacred groves, Khumbu's forests have often been assumed to be degraded remnants of something else, in this case of an uninterrupted fir-dominated (Abies spectabilis) forest landscape below 4100 m. In this scenario the arrival of Sherpa settlers some 25 generations ago initiated deforestation through tree felling and livestock grazing, a process accelerated through increasing tourist pressures in recent years. However, in a study of forest plots around the most intensely settled area of Kunde, Khumjung and Namche (Figure 8.2), Brower and Dennis (1998: 195) showed that 'contemporary grazing has at most a limited effect on the regeneration of forest; it is significant - if at all - only when acting in conjunction with other site stresses'.

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Villages Mountain peaks Glacier Elevation in metres

While the stands showed variable characteristics, there is evidence of forest cover increasing in the 3400-3800 m zone. Sparse stands and lone trees 'are pioneers, not remnants of formerly more dense forests' (Brower and Dennis, 1998: 202). They suggest that establishment of fir seedlings in shrub / grassland is a rare event because the seedlings are vulnerable to desiccation. Once past the establishment phase, however, shrub / grassland sites are suitable for fir growth. Abies is relatively unpalatable to large herbivores, and tolerates moderate browsing when healthy. Another implication of the arbor-centric perspective is that it is prone to overlook the richness and diversity of the Rhododendron lepidotum-Cotoneaster microphyllus shrub/grassland, often characterized as 'degraded' (p. 202). Brower and Dennis further

FIGURE 8.3 Sagarmatha National Park in Khumbu, Nepal (Brower and Dennis, 1998) Source: Karl S. Zimmerer and Kenneth R. Young (eds), Nature's geography. © 1998. Reprinted by permission of The University of Wisconsin Press

DEVELOPING COUNTRIES

speculate that Sherpa livestock grazing may actually be increasing fir forest extent by reducing fuel load and thus fire frequency. As with all the case studies presented here, this is not to deny the obvious fact that human activities can be detrimental to ecosystems, whether assessed by biodiversity, sustainability or some other measure. It is to demand more explicit consideration of the rates and directions of human influences within situations of change. Blumler argues that although the human imprint on the Near Eastern landscape is major, effects are often conflicting and diffuse rather than unilinear and utterly degradational. For instance, people destroy woody plants when they gather them for fuel or construction material, but may favor their establishment and survival when domestic animals graze and weaken the competing herbs, or when soil erosion exposes rocks that then protect woody seedlings and provide them a favorable, summer-moist microclimate. (1998) As Blumler points out, the Near East has a history of agropastoralist impact as long as anywhere in the world. Most understanding of this impact, he argues, derives from 'the traditional equilibrium view of nature, and associated linear models of vegetation change under human impact' (p. 218). Trees are associated with climax (Figure 3.2), thus tree-planting becomes a high-priority conservation activity, often at the expense of formerly species-rich landscapes. Blumler and colleagues' work in open oak (Quercus ithaburensis) woodland in the Lower Galilee showed among other things that variation in disturbance regime favoured diversity. Elaborating ideas put forward by Connell (1978), they argued that each type of distur-

135

bance, including anthropogenic ones (fire, drought, ploughing, etc.), favours a particular suite of species (Figure 8.4). 'All species remain in the system as long as the different disturbance types cycle through with sufficient frequency' (Blumler, 1998: 227). This suggests that flexible, varying land use, with changes in impacts, should be encouraged in the Near East and Mediterranean ecosystems.

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FIGURE 8.4 Blumler's disturbance-heterogeneity hypothesis (1998). If a species is favoured by one type of disturbance but not by others, it will increase in abundance after the former but decrease after the latter. As long as the type of disturbance that it 'needs' cycles through frequently enough, it can remain in the landscape. If there are many species adapted to different sorts of disturbances, then overall species diversity can be greatly enhanced if disturbances are also diverse Source: Karl S. Zimmerer and Kenneth R. Young (eds), Nature's geography. © 1998. Reprinted by permission of The University of Wisconsin Press

Identity, heritage and tourism

9.0 Chapter summary This chapter explores the way identity is constructed in relation to landscape, and how that is expressed in management issues such as heritage and tourism. Two themes are dominant in this discussion. The first is the role of time, particularly past time, in embedding identity. Several temporalities are involved: the passage of time, perceptions of the past and the pace of change in different arenas of practice. The second theme is the contests that emerge from overlapping or competing identities in landscape. The prime example of this is increasing concern with heritage, a theme that echoes issues of preservation and restoration discussed in Chapter 8. The two are connected by two important dimensions of heritage identified by Lowenthal (1996): origins or priority 'being first', and lineage and kinship - 'being innate'. With increasing tourist interest in cultural landscapes, particularly old ones, these issues play out in terms of present and future management.

9.1 Identity and the past In Chapter 8 we considered the role of indigenous people and issues in environmental management. Indigenous people often articulate their interest in land and resources with reference to time, to a long period of interaction with the land, and thus an accumulation of

detailed knowledge. This begs the question of how long it takes to develop indigeneity and how it is expressed in different contexts, a question taken up by Dominy's study of (Pakeha) high-country sheep station families in South Island Aotearoa/New Zealand (Dominy, 1995). The assertion of native status by these families occurs as part of contemporary Aotearoa/New Zealand political discourse, specifically in the context of a land claim before the Waitangi Tribunal. Pakeha New Zealanders, like contemporary descendants of colonizing peoples in Australia, Canada, the USA and South Africa, are in the process of creating a new sense of belonging in the land that involves looking both backwards and forwards. An important element of this is the differentiation from imported and inherited traditions (Dominy, 1995). In the claim under discussion, 'Ngai Tahu people seek remedies for the Crown's failure to protect rights guaranteed to the tribe by the Treaty of Waitangi' (Dominy, 1995: 361). The land claim included land held under pastoral lease tenure by 360 sheep-farming families of European descent. There are many issues involved; we concentrate here on the way the high-country farmers represented the historical importance of their relationship to the land to the Waitangi Tribunal. Three individuals represented the High Country Committee of Federated Farmers. Hamish Ensor presented evidence that he understood Ngai Tahu's rela-

IDENTITY AND THE PAST 237

tionship with the pastoral lands, for example trails through the Rakaia valley to the west coast for greenstone. He also asserted his own family's social connection to the land: If any group of New Zealanders can claim to be the indigenous people of the pastoral lease land perhaps it is the lessees themselves as they are the only people in the history of New Zealand to have actually settled on and worked the land in question. My people, regardless of race or creed, including members of the Ngai Tahu tribe[,] consider themselves to have the indigenous feeling of the high country. In many cases the occupation by these lessees extends back over four or five generations, (quoted in Dominy 1995: 363)

Ensor's expression of attachment has both parallels and differences with Ngai Tahu's claim. Both refer to kinship and generational inheritance as evidence of commitment to the land. Ensor's argument in relation to 'settling on and working' the land goes back to colonial ideas that did not recognize the land relationships of non-agricultural peoples. A second pastoral representative, Iris Scott, emphasized belonging through detailed knowledge of the environment, including the vagaries of local climate and the implications of changing terrain conditions for stock movements. In this she reflected attitudes commonly expressed to Dominy by other farmers, who thus strategically situate their own local knowledge in the context of the national interest: 'The pastoral lease symbolizes a relationship of shared ownership between the runholder and the Crown in order to "preserve the land for the benefit of all New Zealanders"' (Dominy, 1995: 365). Pastoralist Jim Morris equated his own identity with the land with that of Maori, arguing that his 'feeling for the land and for the people who also live and work there is of an order that the Maori people would understand' (Dominy, 1995: 366). In doing so Morris challenged homogenized and dichotomized views that only Maori can speak of ancestral and spiritual concerns for the land, and that Pakeha farmers think of it only in practical and economic terms. In a series of interviews on the west coast of the South Island, Kirby (1993) also showed that both Maori and Pakeha informants expressed particular attachments to local place.

The creation of identity in a colonizing context is addressed also by Kealhofer (1999) in Virginia, USA, drawing on a combination of historical, archaeological and architectural evidence. This study also challenges simplistic models of identity creation and landscape transformation over time. If identity is a complex and multi-layered thing, then so will be the landscapes in which it is worked out. Creating public landscapes - of social hierarchy or government control - took longer than did creating private ones such as gardens. This results in lags and discrepancies that need to be considered in interpreting changing shape and meaning over time (Kealhofer, 1999). One relevant aspect of time here is time since colonization. Kealhofer argues that when worlds are still 'new', we can reasonably expect discrepancies between constructed and conceived landscapes. (This contrasts with times and places of long habitation, where the distinction between the two may have become quite blurred.) Colonists 'conceived' of their new landscape often described by English explorers as Eden but they did not configure it with any complexity or depth of meaning. For example, sacred points of reference did not exist. It takes time to embed meaning, even in a little modified 'conceived' landscape. (Kealhofer, 1999: 59)

Kealhofer (1999) explores these points of contradiction and discrepancy as a means to understand the trajectories of social change. Throughout the seventeenth century houses gradually became more permanent, and space within them became more differentiated. Communal and private space were separated, and servants were moved into separate structures. In contrast, 'gardens increasingly link the house with the larger landscape' (p. 75). Even within gardens there was considerable variability, as excavations of two seventeenthcentury elite gardens show. The landscaping of Green Spring plantation shows how Governor Berkeley defined himself as both Virginian and Englishman. Excavations of the garden showed it falling away from the terrace of the house, within a wider landscape of meadows and trees as the forest had been cleared for shifting tobacco cultivation. Kealhofer sees this as

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linking the plantation into an increasingly domesticated landscape: 'the garden becomes part of the natural world as viewed from the house, and the stature of the house was increased when viewed from afar' (p. 72). Constant exchange of plants, gardeners and ideas within the colony and across the Atlantic formed another network within which landscapes held meaning. The garden excavated at nearby Bacon's Castle shows a quite different configuration, one that does not link the house to the wider landscape. This garden was more in medieval style, with geometric vegetable and herb beds divided by wide formal paths. Attention in this garden is focused internally. Whereas Governor Berkeley's landscape garden reflected social and political interactions out into and across the countryside, Arthur Allen of Bacon's Castle was more interested in control and order of his own domain. It is suggested that 'Allen was reformulating a more medieval identity that focused primarily on his extended household, and himself as a traditional manor lord' (Kealhofer, 1999: 74). 9.1.1 National identities, landscape and the past If identity is complex and operates at a range of scales, one of the most powerful levels is that of nation (Illustration 9.1). 'Nations without pasts are a contradiction in terms and archaeology

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has been one of the principal suppliers of the raw material for constructing pasts in modern struggles for nationhood' (Rowlands, 1994). The association of archaeology with the nationbuilding project is particularly strong in East Asia (Ikawa-Smith, 1999), from where I draw a number of examples. Ikawa-Smith (1999) identifies at least three models of the way national origins are constructed in relation to archaeological evidence. One emphasizes indigenous or in situ development, for example China. A second, the 'continuity with assimilation' model, incorporates influx of external sources into a basic cultural continuity, as in Japan. Third, there is a 'single ancestral antecedent' model, whereby a pure and homogeneous group is assumed to have moved into an area. In the example of Korea this homogeneity tends to be emphasized because the relevant archaeological remains are now found in three sovereign states (Pak, 1999). These issues are all cross-cut by the historical experience of colonialism. Areas of Africa, Asia and the Americas which experienced European colonialism were also subject to a distinctive archaeological heritage, in which local cultures were regarded as 'a living museum of the past' (Glover, 1999: 594). These cultures were seen as not being able to change without external stimulus, unless it was to wither and decay from a higher level, as in the case of the ruined towers of the Cham peoples of Vietnam

ILLUSTRATION 9.1 'The heritage and identity contradictions of the former GDR: Marx and Engels stand in front of its Parliament building in the former East Berlin, while behind is the Dom, commissioned by Kaiser William II and opened in 1905. Damaged in the Second World War, the building was restored by the GDR government as part of a policy of appropriation of past German culture to claim legitimacy for itself (by permission of Graham et al. (2000:67))

IDENTITY AND THE PAST 139

(Glover, 1999). Scholars working in these areas in the post-colonial period have had to rethink many issues. Two important ones are the place of indigenous and minority groups in national pasts, and the way colonialism itself is commemorated in the landscape. Indigenous peoples have variously been erased from, incorporated into and appropriated as part of national pasts. Rao (1994) reports the deliberate removal or renaming of British and Japanese colonial monuments respectively in India and Korea. On the other hand, they have been preserved in Mozambique as symbols of the people's struggles for freedom. These discussions are inevitably interlinked with landscape, and power over land. We start here by looking at England and its former colony Australia, where national identities are entwined with both landscape and the past, but in very different ways. In both places, rural landscape - 'countryside' in England, 'bush' in Australia - has been at the heart of discussions of national identity, discussions led by largely urban populations (Lowenthal, 1996). There are differences in the tenor of debate. For example, class-based differences over rights of access to countryside (Blunden and Curry, 1990) seem peculiarly English, although Aboriginal Australians would find many parallels in their own land rights struggles. A clearer difference is the way each nation thinks about a landscape past. While both make reference to ancientness and, to varying degrees, stability of landscape, there are differences in how the human presence is considered. In England it is the past of a peopled landscape: English stability is notably enshrined in landscapes that bear the stamp, as its champions fondly say, of centuries of countrymen and women - even of surviving aboriginal cattle. An environment chief lauds stewardship that leaves much of rural England 'as she was: changeless in our fast-changing world'. (Lowenthal, 1996:186) By providing reassurance that some things remain stable, permanent and enduring, the countryside upholds the status quo. As Australians come to terms with the antiquity of Aboriginal occupation of the land,

a national identity that alluded to the ancientness of the landscape itself is in the process of being recast (Head, 2000). In 1963 it was still possible to think of the dead heart of the country as providing a cultural blank slate, as expressed in the opening lines to Moorehead's Cooper's Creek: Here perhaps, more than anywhere, humanity had had a chance to make a fresh start. The land was absolutely untouched and unknown, and except for the blacks, the most retarded people on earth, there was no sign of any previous civilization whatever: not a scrap of pottery, not a Chinese coin, not even the vestige of a Portuguese fort. Nothing in this strange country seemed to bear the slightest resemblance to the outside world: it was so primitive, so lacking in greenness, so silent, so old. It was not a measurable man-made antiquity, but an appearance of exhaustion and weariness in the land itself. (Moorehead, 1963:1) In 1978 Lowenthal described Australian (and, comparatively, American) attempts to find a usable past when faced with recorded histories of 'embarrassing brevity': To compensate for the absence of a long recorded history, we are prone to stretch history back into the mists of pre-history. The Australian heritage incorporates not only the few decades since the European discovery but the long reaches of unrecorded time comprised in Aboriginal life and, before that, in the history of nature itself, the animals and plants and the very rocks of the Australian continent. Thus the felt past expands, enabling Australia to equal the antiquity of any nation ... The Aboriginal past is largely absent from this Australian primordial heritage, partly because Australians and Aborigines are still antagonistic, partly because earlier epochs yield only paltry Aboriginal remains. A few flints and kitchen middens inspire no awe comparable to Mayan pyramids or midWestern Indian mounds. ... Only if Aboriginal 'hallowed ashes' became conspicuous monuments in the Australian landscape could the Aboriginal past form part of the mythic heritage that nature alone now supplies. (Lowenthal, 1978: 86, 88) Even as he wrote, the middens, flints and hallowed ashes were in the process of becoming such monuments (Illustration 9.2),

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ILLUSTRATION 9.2 Walls of China, Mungo National Park, New South Wales, Australia. Archaeological remains eroding from these dunes around now-dry lake beds date the human occupation of Australia and burial rituals to beyond 40,000 years. This area was proclaimed as a World Heritage site in 1981

identity around a landscape past that belongs essentially to someone else. While past English landscapes may have had great differentials in terms of power and access, that history is one that people can have ownership of at some shared level. It remains to be seen whether this can be the case in Australia. In Australia there is the further issue that some key landscapes in the process of nation-building are on the other The Bill will necessarily be complex, but this side of the world (Illustration 9.3). evening I want to cut through the complexity to England and Australia provide one particular some of its simple principles. First we need to get the background straight. Over tens of thousands comparative example, but the issue of incorpoof years Aboriginal people had developed a rating pasts, including the archaeological past, complex culture built on a profound attachment into contemporary identity is a widespread one. to the land.... Yet this most remarkable fact about Some of the most contested landscapes are Australia - this oldest continuous civilisation on earth - has until now been denied by Australian those where an indigenous minority maintains a past and a present. The traditional lands of the law. (Keating, 1993) Sami, or Lapps, lie within four present-day Although archaeology is not mentioned, the countries: Russia, Norway, Sweden and priority accorded by antiquity is implicit in the Finland. To some extent their political struggles Preamble to the Native Title Act 1993: vary in those different contexts (e.g. The people of Australia intend ... to ensure that Brantenberg, 1991), but a shared concern is the Aboriginal peoples and Torres Strait Islanders way in which Saminess is presented and negoreceived the full recognition and status within the tiated. In this example the focus is on how an Australian nation to which history, their prior archaeological past is incorporated into discusrights and interests, and their rich and diverse sions of Sami identity in Sweden. culture, fully entitle them to aspire, (p. 2). The Sami occupy an area in the interior of Aboriginal people have expressed a range of northern Sweden where they have been views, both positive and negative, about intensive reindeer pastoralists since c. AD 1600. archaeology and the way it interprets the past. The seasonal movements on which this These are not explored here. Rather, I am inter- pastoralism depends have become much more ested to demonstrate the dilemmas for difficult in the past two centuries owing to land non-Aboriginal Australia in constructing an use pressures and the attitude of the Swedish and understanding of Australia's prehistoric past has been transformed in the intervening decades, as discussed in Chapter 2. By 1993, elements of an archaeological consciousness were being incorporated into official nationalisms. This was expressed by Prime Minister Paul Keating in his November 1993 Address to the Nation on the Native Title Bill.

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ILLUSTRATION 9.3 'The road to nationhood through sacrifice in war: the Australian National Memorial in VillersBretonneux Military Cemetery, Somme, France' (by permission of Graham, et al. (2000:194))

state. Many Sami chose or were forced into new, more sedentary ways of life, consequently losing some aspects of their Sami identity (Mulk and Bayliss-Smith, 1999). This was exacerbated by state policies which recognized limited grazing and use rights for the dwindling number of reindeer herders, but none for other Sami. As a consequence, 'Sami ethnicity came to be regarded as practically synonymous with the practice of reindeer-herding' (Mulk and Bayliss-Smith, 1999: 361). Other subsistence practices such as fishing and farming, engaged in by more Sami than is reindeer herding, are not seen to have ethnic significance because they are not exclusively Sami activities (Brantenberg, 1991).

Some of these policies have altered with the recent nomination of Laponia for World Heritage listing as both natural and cultural landscape (see also Chapter 6). The significance of the area for the Sami goes beyond livelihood to sacred and symbolic meanings, expressed in 'rock carvings, Dreaming spots, landmarks that feature in myths, sacred mountains and sacrificial sites' (Mulk and Bayliss-Smith, 1999:367). The Swedish government submission to UNESCO had to recognize and protect Sami rights as part of the case for a World Heritage cultural landscape. In this political process the archaeological past of the Sami has been used in contradictory ways, as elaborated by Mulk and Bayliss-Smith (1999). Until well into the twentieth-century archaeology reinforced the hegemonic relationship between majority groups in Scandinavia (Norwegians, Swedes) and minorities like the Sami, mainly by rendering the latter invisible. For example, the museum of Vuollerim 6000 ar (Vuollerim 6000 years ago) is a popular tourist destination along the road to the 'wilderness' landscapes of the Laponian World Heritage Area in northern Sweden. The archaeology of the 6000-year-old settlement is interpreted as a winter base camp for a huntergatherer group, with no direct evidence of ethnicity. Displays and publicity material (Figure 9.1), however, portray these people as 'tall, blond, blue-eyed people with stereotypical Germanic features' (Mulk and Bayliss-Smith, 1999: 380). This supports old nationalist myths that portray Norway and Sweden as ancient cultures with Stone Age roots, and Sami as latecomers from an Asian homeland. Mulk and Bayliss-Smith stress the intimate links between the acquisition of ethnographic and archaeological knowledge of the past, and the colonial process itself: The collection of artefacts and skeletons, old and new, and the recording of curiosities such as myths and vocabularies, was in a real sense the scientific parallel of the economic and territorial conquest that incorporated these lands and peoples of the north into the emerging nation states of Norway, Sweden and Russia. Such knowledge was constructed and represented in ways that served to emphasise the contrast between the societies of the 'civilised' centre and those of the 'primitive' periphery. (1999:379)

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the stallo dwellings are of Sami origin, and are the remains of tent structures like the kata of the recent past. There is also agreement that these high-altitude settlements can have been occupied only in the summer or autumn, and that they were used by people who had control of domesticated reindeer as draught animals. (Mulk and Bayliss-Smith, 1999: 384)

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FIGURE 9.1 'Vuollerim 6000 ar: not-so-hidden messages about ethnicity' (source: Mulk and BaylissSmith 1999: figure 24.6). By permission of Taylor & Francis Books Ltd

The Sami situation provides just one example of the well-documented link between colonialism and archaeology (e.g. Thomas, 1994; Head, 2000). The opposite tendency, the romanticizing of the past, is also not confined to the Sami. It often goes hand in hand with the depiction of indigenous peoples as the 'original conservationists'. This example relates to the interpretation of so-called 'stallo' sites: groups of former huts or dwellings that are defined by central hearths and surrounded by ovalshaped banks of soil. The sites date to the late Iron Age and Nordic medieval period. For nearly a century there has been debate about their function and their connection or otherwise to the Sami. While there are still areas of disagreement, most archaeologists now agree that

What is under dispute is why the Sami were occupying sites in the high mountain areas. At particular issue is the question of whether they were hunting for trade in fur and meat, or whether these sites indicate the onset of full reindeer pastoralism, comparable to more recent Sami lifeways, about 1000 years earlier than the usually accepted date. The latter proposition, advocated by Storli (1996), constitutes for Mulk and Bayliss-Smith 'the past-as-wished-for'. They argue instead that extensive wild reindeer hunting, as evidenced by widespread hunting pits dated c. AD 500-1350, could not coexist with domestic herd management, and thus that pastoralism had not yet become established. Our task here is not to try to resolve any particular archaeological debate, but to understand how various interpretations of the past are incorporated in complex and contested ways into identity politics. Mulk and Bayliss-Smith summarize this well: The lingering assumptions of Social Darwinism and cultural evolution still mean that for some Samis, as for many other people in the world, a prehistory of pastoralism seems more dignified than one dominated by hunting and gathering. If the stallo sites were to be seen as a cultural landscape of early reindeer pastoralism, then Samis who had adopted the hegemonic view of cultural evolution would feel that their cultural identity today had been significantly strengthened. Grazing rights for modern reindeer-herding might also be seen as having a stronger basis if a millennium of continuous pastoralist land-use could be established. In other ways, too, modern Sami cultural identity would be confirmed if we were to interpret cultural landscapes in ways that suggest that Sami pastoral society had very ancient roots. Scandinavian society today focuses substantially, perhaps disproportionately, on reindeer-herding as a symbol of Sami cultural identity. This is a situation in part imposed by the nation states that have equated Sami ethnicity with reindeer pastoralism, but in part it is created by the Sami

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their previous depiction as 'barbarous wanderers' (p. 592). (Indeed, Jomon archaeology has been central in international The value of a hunter-gatherer past changes archaeological debates over the variability and according to context. Once ignored or derided complexity in hunter-gatherer societies.) as evidence of a lower state of civilization, it is Nevertheless, the shift in Japanese thinking now more in tune with contemporary environ- from a situation where Japanese cultural mental sensibilities. (If it can take us back to origins have always been traced to the ricehuman ancestry itself, as in the case of China, it producing and socially stratified Yayoi (c. 300 is in another realm of continuity altogether BC-AD 300) and Kofun periods is seen by Habu (Ikawa-Smith, 1999)). However, the issue is and Fawcett as a significant one. Nationalist also related to whether the contemporary focus after the Second World War linked Japan nation can 'own' this part of the past, as the as a rice-farming nation to an ancient agrarian examples above show. In Japan a shift in past. Several important factors have contributed thinking is beginning to incorporate Jomon to public interest in Jomon archaeology (Habu hunter-gatherer archaeology into Japanese and Fawcett, 1999). Archaeologists working at national identity (Habu and Fawcett, 1999). Particularly important in this process has been Sannai Maruyama have been active in dissemipublic interest in Sannai Maruyama site nating excavation results to the public, assisted (3500-2000 BC) in Aomori Prefecture, northern by intense media interest. The people of Honshu (Figure 9.2 and Illustrations 9.4a, 9.4b Aomori Prefecture have developed intense regional pride in the site, and the prefectural and 9.4c). Excavations at Sannai Maruyama have government has been keen to develop it as a revealed 'over 7 pit-dwellings, approximately tourist attraction. In 1998 the governor 20 long houses, about 100 remains of raised- declared a focus on cultural tourism, pointing floor buildings, approximately 250 adult grave out that Sannai Maruyama 'added temporal pits and 800 burial jars for infants or children', depth to Aomori's natural beauty and tradiseveral large middens and mounds, and an tional cultural assets'. He further called Aomori enormous range of utilitarian and artistic arte- 'the hometown of the Japanese nation' and facts (Habu and Fawcett, 1999: 587-8). These then linked it symbolically to international are thus very respectable hunter-gatherers to society (Habu and Fawcett, 1999: 591). On the one hand, pushing Japanese ethnicity have in the national family tree, a shift from further into the prehistoric past can be seen as a conservative reaction which reifies traditional ideas of cultural and biological homogeneity. On the other hand, argue Habu and Fawcett (1999), increased interest in Jomon sites opens the way to a re-examination of the whole question of Japanese ethnicity, and for recognition of prehistoric diversity. This might 'provide space for a modern-day acceptance of ethnic diversity within Japan' (p. 592), particularly for the marginalized Ainu and Ryukyuan people of Hokkaido and Okinawa. In India a traditional past was sought as a bulwark against the disarray which marked the end of British colonialism. This has resulted in a struggle between Hindu and Muslim pasts, epitomized in the struggle over the site of a mosque in the northern city of Ayodhya (Rao, FIGURE 9.2 Location map, Sannai Maruyama themselves, as a nostalgic reaction to the abandonment of reindeer-herding by the majority of the Sami people. (1999: 389)

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ILLUSTRATION 9.4 (b) Sannai Maruyama site, Aomori, Japan. The tower and huts are reconstructions based on the archaeological excavations (by permission of Mary-Jane Mountain)

ILLUSTRATION 9.4 (a) Remains of circular stone monument, Komakino, near Aomori, Japan. It was built about 4000 years ago during the Jomon era. In 1995 the site was designated as a national historical treasure (by permission of Mary-Jane Mountain)

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Image Not Available ILLUSTRATION 9.4 (c) Visitors look at excavated ground surface, Sannai Maruyama site, Aomori, Japan (by permission of Mary-Jane Mountain)

CONTESTED IDENTITIES: LANDSCAPES OF HERITAGE

1994). Majority Hindu groups claim that a sixteenth-century mosque, Babri Masjid, was erected on the site of an ancient Hindu temple to the god/king Rama. According to the Ramayana, one of the Indian epics, Rama was born in and ruled from Ayodhya (Rao, 1994: 156). Textual, historical and archaeological evidence have all been invoked in these contested pasts (Golson, 1995), but it became more than an academic argument when the mosque was torn down by Hindu fundamentalists in December 1992. It is estimated that more than 1000 people died in the wave of violence which followed (Colley, 1995). The dispute has moved beyond a debate over archaeological or historical 'facts', with the site increasing in importance to both Hindus and Muslims as a result of the controversy. One consequence, as Rao observes, is that in the struggle for symbolic control of space, previous ambiguities become more reified. 'Ayodhya has never really occupied the absolute position in the Hindu mind that Mecca, for instance, does in the Muslim. Liminality and ambiguity are a part of the Hindu Weltanschauung' (Rao, 1994: 163). By liminality, Rao refers not to physically marginal space, but a sort of magical space which is 'betwixt and between'. For example, each year the story of Rama is played out in the town of Ramnagar over a thirty-day period. Different parts of the town 'become' different aspects of the story, including Ayodhya. For this month 'Ramnagar and its inhabitants enter a symbolic, liminal space' (159).

9.2 Contested identities: landscapes of heritage All the debates above allude to the concept of heritage, so it is important to tease out some of the assumptions buried, and not-so-buried, in the valuation of the past that is implied by this term. Lowenthal's (1996) analysis of heritage helps us here. Importantly, the themes of stability, origins and lineage in his work resonate with themes we have already discussed in terms of ecological protection (especially in Chapters 3 and 7). Once again it is instructive

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for us to compare discussions in the natural and cultural management fields. Lowenthal starts by exploring the distinction between history and heritage. Understanding this distinction is crucial to understanding the partisan nature of heritage: History tells all who will listen what has happened and how things came to be as they are. Heritage passes on exclusive myths of origin and continuance, endowing a select group with prestige and common purpose. ... the very notion of a universal legacy is selfcontradictory ... confining possession to some while excluding others is the raison d'etre of heritage. ... Heritage builds collective pride and purpose, but in so doing stresses distinctions between good guys (us) and bad guys (them). (1996: 128, 230, 248) This distinction, which Lowenthal discusses mostly in terms that we would refer to as 'cultural' heritage, stimulates us to think also about the processes of invoking 'natural' heritage. The relationship between history and heritage is also paralleled by that between geography/ecology and natural heritage. Why are some environments and ecosystems valued and others not, for example? And who does the valuing? Lowenthal identifies two different strategies of heritage-making. One collapses 'the entire past into a single frame' and makes it different from the present. This can be for better or worse; the good old days, or the bad old days. A second strategy stresses the likeness of past and present. '[Coalescing past with present creates a living heritage that is relevant because it highlights ancestral traits and values felt to accord with our own' (1996: 139). Several examples presented above accord with this strategy. Heritage alters history in at least one of three ways: it updates it; it highlights and enhances aspects now felt admirable; and / or it expunges shameful or harmful aspects of the past (p. 153). 9.2.1 Stability, origins and lineage The desire to preserve heritage, like concern over rainforest loss, is intensified by the perception of accelerating change (Illustration

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9.5). For Lowenthal, this helps to explain our focus on stability, however artificial: Beleaguered by loss and change, we keep our bearing only by clinging to remnants of stability. Hence preservers' aversion to letting anything go, postmodern manias for period styles, cults of prehistory at megalithic sites. Mourning past neglect, we cherish islands of security in seas of change. ... Legacies at risk are cherished for their very fragility. The heritage of rural life is exalted because everywhere at risk, if not already lost. Fending off irreversible change, we preserve, restore, or replicate. Any extinction, even of pestilential germs, becomes a crime against the legacy of diversity. (Lowenthal, 1996: 6,11)

If stability rather than change is valued, it is a short step to the importance of being first. Issues of priority, precedence, primordiality and antiquity are central to heritage questions, as we saw in the discussion above. Precedence

can be transferred along appropriate lines of lineage and kinship; related ideas reappear in more metaphorical guise in discussions of race, blood, genes and purity. Lowenthal (1996) encapsulates these themes as 'being first' and 'being innate'. Emphasis on stability can also perpetuate a very static view of tradition. Working in a Thai context, Byrne cautioned that 'the struggle to achieve management control over the material past is one which takes place not across East-West, national, or cultural lines but across or at the borders of different and often competing discursive formations' (1995: 267). Thus the problem may not be so much Western imperialism as the hegemonic tendencies of archaeological discourse, which uses the language of 'universal' heritage to privilege its own meanings over those of local voices, in this example Thai Buddhism. Byrne outlines the tensions in management of the bell-shaped religious monuments (stupa) between attempts to preserve their 'original' fabric - often consistent with the nation-building desires of the state - and 'the ethic of merit making in Thai Buddhism, [which] puts a premium on the proliferation, reconstruction and rebuilding of stupas' (p. 267). 9.2.2 Monuments

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ILLUSTRATION 9.5 Juxtaposition of old and new, Seoul, South Korea (by permission of Gordon Waitt)

At the very least, stones which are marked or emplaced in the landscape tell us that someone else was here first. The centrality of monuments in many visions of the past, and their importance within heritage, reflect a variety of social processes (Illustration 9.6). Obviously, stones and rocks physically preserve better than most other aspects of heritage, and thus bias our view of the past to some extent. However, many would argue that the connection between long-lived substances and heritage is no coincidence. Tacon argues that the widespread use of rock marking by prehistoric peoples demonstrates that they recognized the permanency of stone, and thus further shows their sense of past (over which time the stone has survived) and future (when others will observe the marking): the overriding implication of any group of people painting, engraving or assembling blocks or

SELLING CULTURE AND THE PAST: LANDSCAPES OF TOURISM

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ILLUSTRATION 9.6 Buddha relief on stone, Namsan Mountains Park, near Kyongju, South Korea (by permission of Gordon Waitt)

boulders of stone ... is that stone is associated with a sense of permanency for all peoples. It outlasts individuals and generations in a way that wood, bone or more fragile substances from which artefacts are made never can (but this is not to say that people did not use these and other substances for symbolic purposes alongside stone). The stone walls, ceilings, shelters, caves, platforms and blocks are also significant parts of the landscape, counterparts to the more fragile earth, plant and animal life. (Tacon, 1994)

This is seen in the use of cupule rock art -pecked circular depressions - in northern Australia. Cupules are distinguished from utilitarian grinding hollows on a range of criteria (Tagon et al., 1997), and make visual reference to solutional weathering features in the sandstones (Illustration 9.7). They occur earliest in the regional rock art sequence, and there is little recorded contemporary Aboriginal knowledge

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of them. Thus while the meanings attributed to them by their makers will remain obscure, certain trends can be discerned by rigorous study of their placement in the landscape. In a study of 26 cupule localities within the area of their greatest concentration, Tagon et al. (1997) recorded at least 10 different ways in which cupules were used to mark places: for example, to define boundaries (e.g. between inside and outside of shelters); link localities via pathways of marked boulders; highlight natural features such as holes, tunnels and passageways; and define spaces within rock shelters. They argue that cupules 'mark and define a human universe at and between particular localities, to accentuate or separate culturally defined areas from the natural' (p. 961). Much heritage legislation still gives priority to a more narrowly conceived notion of 'monuments', leading to several biases in our understanding of the past (Mulk and BaylissSmith, 1999). These include in particular a focus on sites rather than total landscapes. 9.3 Selling culture and the past: landscapes of tourism The past is ... being re-invented, sanitized, simplified and packaged for tourist consumption by both internal and foreign tourists, and I suspect that this will have more effect in the next few years on the way the past is investigated and presented than any shifts in academic paradigms. (Glover, 1999:599)

When issues of heritage and identity are entwined with those of international tourism, things become even more complicated. Indeed, Pai (1999: 624) argues that 'the present goal of heritage management in South Korea is to define core-areas for tourism' (see Box 9.1). The considerable infrastructure associated with linking cultural heritage sites with commerce is itself a source of environmental change and ecological pressure. While nation-states and heritage organizations are still active agents in representing the past for tourists, they are jostled by a myriad other participants in the marketplace. For environmental managers, tourism is becoming a major issue as affluent travellers look for new undiscovered destina-

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ILLUSTRATION 9.7 Cupules of varying ages at the Jinmium rockshelter site, Northern Territory, Australia, extend below the present ground surface. Archaeological excavation aims to relate cupule art to other changes in the prehistoric record (by permission of Richard Fullagar)

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tions. Visitor pressures bring the attendant difficulties of 'loving to death' the attributes which attracted them in the first place. By the same token, tourism can be a resource for conservation, in that it encourages investment in the protection of valued sites and landscapes.

Box 9.1 Culture 'core areas' in South Korea, as defined by the Tourist Development Office The key strategic initiative for the future development of tourism in South Korea is now focused on the promotion of six core areas: • Seoul (Yi dynastic culture); • Puyo/Kongju (Paekche culture: first to third centuries); • Kyongju (Silla culture: third to tenth centuries); • Chungwon; • Pusan (Kaya culture: first to third centuries); • Cheju island. The selection of the six proposed centres of culture (munwha-kwon) was based on their unique cultural properties to the area. The properties were ranked in descending order of importance as:

9.3.1

Tourism, wilderness and landscapes

As was discussed in earlier chapters, many of the landscapes valued by tourists for their emptiness of human associations are in fact someone's home. There are many examples of the simultaneous construction of these two kinds of cultural

• national monuments (art-historical sites, architecture, sculpture, archaeological remains and museums); • lifestyles and subsistence strategies (historical battle sites of foreign resistance such as Chinju-song, the site of antiHideyoshi resistance during the Hideyoshi Invasions (1592-97), and the villa of Korea's most famous naval hero, Yi Sun-shin); • technological and scientific achievements of the Korean people (e.g. turtle-boats at Hansan-do, an island where Yi Sun-shin sank the invading Japanese armada during the Hideyoshi invasions); • holy sites/sacred places (e.g. Kanghwado's shrine of the founding ancestor, Tan'gun); • sites of myths / legends. Linked to these projects are long-range infrastructure development plans including new roads, frequent bus and train services, and hotels. Source: Pai (1999: 624-5)

SELLING CULTURE AND THE PAST: LANDSCAPES OF TOURISM

landscape. To follow the Sami example from earlier in the chapter, this is seen in the marketing of the Jokkmokk area as 'wilderness country': 'Undisturbed nature is a human right. ... The municipality of Jokkmokk accommodates large tracts of national parks and reserves ... which form a huge wilderness area. Large expanses are needed to give an adequate shelter to wildlife' (quoted in Mulk and Bayliss-Smith, 1999:366). In the same breath, the Swedish Environmental Protection Agency maintenance plans for Sarek National Park (Figure 9.3) specify both that 'this unique untouched environment is to be preserved intact' (p. 366) and that Sami reindeer husbandry is still practised, with some Sami huts surviving. The desire of adventure-seekers, backpackers and bushwalkers for 'uncultural' landscapes conflicts in this example with Sami livelihood and symbolic meaning. Virtually identical issues are played out in many other areas, for example Australia and Canada. As we have seen at various points throughout the book, the ground is shifting towards increased recognition of indigenous rights and presence.

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It remains to be seen whether Western conservationists can value such landscapes as highly as the natural ones of their imagination. Within a globalized environmental movement and tourism market, the process of 'othering' goes well beyond national boundaries. 'Remote' corners like northern Sweden and central Australia are sites onto which fantasies from many metropolitan centres are projected. This notion of Australia as Other is actively exploited by the Australian Tourist Commission, which has to define and package an Australian identity and position it in the international tourism market (Waitt, 1997). This process requires Australia to be differentiated from competing products in markets including North America, Japan, Europe and other parts of Asia. To meet the demands of adventurers the landscape of the interior (The Red Centre) is symbolised in the visual text [television advertisements] as a wild, rugged, vibrantly red 'wilderness'... all of course devoid of people (a founding concept of colonial appropriation)' (Waitt, 1997:50). Representations of indigenous people in the advertisements are as part of the

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Figure 9.3 Lule River, upper valley, in northern Sweden, showing the boundaries of various national parks which constitute Laponia World Heritage Area Source: Mulk and Bayliss-Smith (1999: figure 24.1). By permission of Taylor & Francis Books Ltd

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landscape, historical and romantic. The visual images of Aborigines used are male, loinclothed and holding spears. Where tourist enterprises are owned and controlled by Aboriginal people there is greater scope for contesting 'the tea towel depiction of Aboriginal culture' (Langton et al., 1999: 101). The greatest growth in this area is in specialist niches where people are willing and able to pay for high-quality experiences with Aboriginal people. While such operations still have to operate in a context in which tourist expectations have been created by wider forces, they are at least in a position to contest the 'empty landscape' ideas. Neither is large-scale tourism something that indigenous communities necessarily want to be involved in, many finding it more intrusive than economic alternatives such as resource extraction. Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park provides one example of the meeting of mass tourism and indigenous aspirations, with the Board and Draft Plan of Management providing mechanisms for protection all round. In this context of indigenous control the message is a positive one - Pukulpa Pitjama Ananguku Ngurakutu Welcome to Aboriginal Land - notwithstanding the high visitor numbers (339,650 fee-paying visitors in 1998) (Australia, 1999: 95). The strategic approach to visitor planning includes consideration of cultural protection as well as more nitty-gritty issues such as transportation, access and accommodation. In Chapter 7 different ways of seeing this landscape were exemplified in relation to the question of 'climbing the rock'; Box 9.2 shows how that issue is addressed in the management plan. 9.3.2 Tradition, tourism and rock art Like other hunter-gatherer and indigenous peoples discussed here, the San of the Natal Drakensberg, South Africa, have moved into and out of history's story as it suited later colonizers. In the past century described as everything from 'brutal savages' to 'harmless people' and 'noble savages', they have more recently been promoted as living in harmony with their environment: 'It is ironic that, a century after the San fought and lost their

struggle for the Natal Drakensberg, they are being used by descendants of their white settler adversaries to promote the conservation of the area' (Mazel, 1992: 765). This view of 'traditional' Africans as 'living in the pristine state of an idealized "natural" past' is widespread in tourist literature and postcards in South Africa (Spiegel, 1994: 192), meeting the considerable tourist demand for an experience of Africa as 'other'. Some images of this traditionality are highly commodified. For example, the exquisite detail in the rock paintings translates well into TrueType fonts, which can be bought as a set for Windows 95 or 98 applications. The advertisement tells us, 'some of these images are nearly 28 000 years old ... amongst the oldest known artworks of humankind'. (This widely quoted date is derived from a painted stone excavated from 27,000-year-old archaeological deposits in Namibia. Most surviving paintings are much younger than this (Wahl, 1999).) The global economy and stylish contemporary designs merge seamlessly with the past and notions of universal heritage. In such a context, management and interpretation of San rock art is a fraught business. Protection of rock art from processes of physical weathering (see Chapter 8) starts to look simple! Hunter-gatherers lived in the Khahlamba (Drakensberg) area from about 8000 years ago until British colonization in the nineteenth-century. In the Natal Drakensberg Park (Figure 9.4) alone, 550 rock painting sites comprising at least 40,000 images have been identified. It is one of the richest rock art regions in Africa, and is soon to be proposed for World Heritage status (Mazel, 1992; Wahl, 1999). The meaning of the images, such as therianthropic (half-human, half-animal) figures (Illustration 9.8a), is debated among rock art scholars; hunter-gatherer ancestor figures, spirits of the dead, and transformed shamans have all been proposed. As international tourism becomes an important source of economic development in the new South Africa, there is increasing visitor interest in, and pressure on, the rock art sites. The relatively accessible Main Caves at Giant's Castle Game Reserve currently receive about

SELLING CULTURE AND THE PAST: LANDSCAPES OF TOURISM

Box 9.2 Climbing Uluru: cultural and management dilemmas Although climbing Uluru remains a popular activity for some visitors, it is the view of Nguraritja Winki that visitors should not climb. They consider that to climb is to show disrespect for the spiritual and safety aspects of Tjukurpa. They are very concerned about visitor safety. Each time a visitor is seriously or fatally injured at Uluru, Nguraritja Winki share in the grieving process. Tjukurpa requires that Nguraritja Winki take responsibility for looking after visitors to their country: this 'duty of care' is the basis of their stress and grieving for those injured. Parks Australia shares these views. The overall percentage of Park visitors climbing Uluru has declined in recent years as visitor awareness of Nguraritja Winki views has increased. Aims •

to discourage people from climbing Uluru;

•

to reduce the number of Uluru-related safety incidents;

•

review and integrate strategies and policies associated with activities in and around Uluru.

Actions •

Climb route. Climbing will be permitted only on the existing Uluru climb and climbers will be required to keep to the marked route.

•

Closures. As in the past, the climb will be closed if conditions compromise visitors' safety.

•

Review. Conduct a review of the strategy and policies associated with activities around Uluru.

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•

Site planning. Site planning for the base of the climb - Mala Walk track head will aim to change the emphasis away from the climb route. This will involve road and car park relocation, better shade and seating, and more safety information.

•

Realignment of the Uluru ring road will be subject to detailed planning with a view to moving the road further away from Uluru.

•

Alternatives. Suitable alternative activities will be developed and promoted to visitors.

•

Interpretation. The message Nganana Tatintja Wiya - 'We Never Climb' - will be presented in interpretive brochures, during guided tours and on signs, to encourage people not to climb Uluru.

•

The tourism industry will be encouraged to provide pre-visit information nationally and internationally, and tour guides will be required to tell clients that climbing Uluru is culturally inappropriate.

•

Pre-dimb briefings. A requirement may be introduced during the life of the Plan for all potential climbers to undertake a briefing on cultural and safety matters.

•

Cultural Centre. Tour operators and independent visitors will be encouraged to visit the Cultural Centre.

•

Monitoring. Three years into the term of this Plan there will be a review.

Source: Summarized from Draft Plan of Management (Australia, 1999: section 5.2.2, pp. 109-10)

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On the one hand, the concept of a diorama might seem dated and detract from a 'natural' experience of the site (or as natural as you can have from a shared boardwalk). However, by drawing attention to itself and the context in which it was created, it performs two important tasks. It illustrates that interpretations of the past and of hunter-gatherer peoples have changed in the past few decades, and thus encourages visitors to remember that our contemporary interpretations will be revised in the future. Second, by raising the question of how interpretations of the past are made, it takes us back to the archaeological evidence itself as a basis for those changing understandings. 9.4 Educating the educators FIGURE 9.4 Location of the Natal Drakensberg, South Africa

18,000 visitors each year. Recently completed large wooden decks, walkways and viewing platforms protect the art by minimizing dust. They also provide visitors with viewing and photographic opportunities (Illustration 9.8b). These sites are also important in that rock art and archaeological deposits occur at the same locations, offering the potential for research to interpret the art in the broader context of prehistoric life. A diorama in South Cave (Illustration 9.8c) has been particularly contentious. Created during the late 1960s, it links the San huntergatherers to the prehistoric past by insetting a model of the archaeological deposit beneath their feet. Associated interpretive material emphasizes the interactions of hunter-gatherers with agriculturalists from the surrounding region, and with later European colonists, in an effort to dispel the myth that hunter-gatherers lived in isolation. ... When the interpretive centre was upgraded recently we decided to retain the diorama and use it to show interaction and the tragic demise of the hunter-gatherers in the Khahlamba. (Wahl, 1999: 7)

Good heritage interpretation can place itself, as well as the site or feature, in historical context.

Most conservation managers have training in the environmental and natural sciences rather than the human sciences. Trained in a tradition of 'truth' and 'facts', they may feel, and be, illequipped to deal with landscapes of multiple meanings. Even for heritage professionals trained in the humanities, it is a considerable challenge to think clearly about a physical landscape which is simultaneously •

• •

a product of the activity of different prehistoric peoples over thousands of years, all investing the land and its past with their own meanings; valued in the present by diverse peoples for different reasons, e.g. indigenous, scientific, conservationist, tourist; and subject to physical pressures that are increasing precisely because it is highly valued.

A variety of training and management strategies are needed. Exposure to the research process at all levels of scientific education will help students understand the contingent nature of science itself, and give them a more dynamic understanding of how scientific knowledge is produced. Managers who have themselves undertaken postgraduate research will be particularly valuable in this regard. Increasingly, environmental scientists receive interdisciplinary

EDUCATING THE EDUCATORS

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training. This is important for making them able to consider cross-cultural issues and changing historical contexts when making environmental decisions. A decision-maker who understands long-term changes in the landscape will not waste energy trying to reconstruct a single 'authentic' past, but will be aware that the process of valuing cultural, or natural, heritage must be an explicit one. There are also relevant practical skills. Systematically observing visitor behaviour at rock art sites and negotiating with traditional owners will be just as important as - in the first instance more important than - measuring dust or humidity levels (Box 9.3).

ILLUSTRATION 9.8

(a) Therianthropes, North Cave, Main Caves, Giant's Castle Game Reserve, South Africa (b) Walkway and viewing platforms, North Cave, Main Caves, Giant's Castle Game Reserve, South Africa (c) Interpretive diorama, South Cave, Main Caves, Giant's Castle Game Reserve, South Africa

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Box 9.3 Visitor management strategies for cultural heritage sites This overview of strategies is not presented as either a comprehensive overview or a management blueprint. Each cultural heritage site and area needs to be managed in its own context. These strategies are most relevant to Aboriginal heritage sites in Australia, but the issues raised have broader application. Indirect management strategies • Protection by heritage legislation and planning provision • Protection by land tenure • Private • Public • Aboriginal ownership • Visible and invisible sites - active promotion of some sites; others made 'invisible' by removing from tourist maps, blocking roads, revegetation. Direct management strategies Direct management strategies come into play once a site has been selected as public or open. How to minimize and control visitor impacts? Physical mechanisms • car parks - ensure only pedestrian traffic reaches site, reduce dust; • pathways - space out visitors, direct attention to broader context of site, access for elderly and disabled; • boardwalks and paving - reduce dust and erosion, keep visitors away from rock art faces, photographic opportunities important;

• grouping areas - seating and interpretive material, bays for guides to deliver talks; • barrier structures - cages, grilles, low wooden fencing, boulder lines; • signposts - polite requests or strong warnings? Deliberate touching shown to be reduced by introduction of signs. Financial mechanisms • ticketing or pricing - distinguish between revenue-raising and pricing for management purposes. Enables an official to be at site; • sales outlets - allow people to take something home without damaging site; • photography - confidentiality and cultural property issues. Studies show that people with cameras generally behave better, provided their needs are catered for. Educative mechanisms • publicity and promotion - quality is important; • name changes - renaming as a direct expression of Aboriginal interests, e.g. renaming of Ayers Rock as Uluru; • visitor centres - very important source of information, but need to enhance the experience of a site, not replace it; • on-site interpretive signs - must be simple, clear, precise, concise; • maps and brochures - offer self-regulatory mechanisms in unstaffed areas; • guides - employment avenue for indigenous owners; not always feasible in rural or remote areas. Source: After Jacobs and Gale (1994)

Conclusion

Like Michael Leunig's characters (Figure 10.1), many of us don't quite know what to make of the past or future, but sense that it is important at least to look in their respective directions. We are more comfortable in the present, which in the end is all we have anyway, finding physical and psychological sustenance in our connec-

tions to something we call the natural world. Leunig refashions past and future into 'pasture' - a physical place, but also something else again. Our present world carries both an inheritance from the past, and the seeds of the future. Similarly, but somewhat less playfully, contemporary environmental management

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FIGURE 10.1 'Past and future', by Michael Leunig As published in the Sydney Morning Herald, March 2000. By permission of Michael Leunig/ The Age

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CONCLUSION

dilemmas require us to deal with a nature that is being refashioned both physically and conceptually. The first challenge for our thinking is to accommodate both change and stability over a range of temporal scales. As examples through the book have shown, this is an important issue whatever the field of inquiry, and whether or not humans are included in the frame of reference. As we have seen, a number of concepts in environmental management, for example heritage, carry within them apparently contradictory ideas. Tradition is another, containing a 'paradoxical marriage between continuity and change' (Mearns, 1994: 266). The anthropologist Mearns discusses the dilemmas faced by Aboriginal women in Australia's Northern Territory as they seek to fulfil their responsibilities towards sacred sites in a changing socio-economic world and in interaction with Australian federal and Territory legislation. The central of these dilemmas is the need to entrust secret knowledge of sites to an outside body (the Aboriginal Areas Protection Authority) - thus potentially breaching Aboriginal law - in order to protect the sites. The process of interaction involves a reorientation of the gender relationships under which much ceremonial business is structured. Knowledge and relationships are also transformed by the process of making permanent written records of business that has previously been transmitted between the generations by oral and ceremonial means. 'To continue tradition thus means to change it' (Mearns, 1994: 286). Similarly, the Yolngu of Arnhem Land use the expression 'same but different' to discuss variation, particularly of artistic styles, within a stable cosmology (Caruana and Lendon, 1997: 37). The metaphor of tradition as 'an active and continuous selection and reselection, which even at its latest point in time is always a set of specific choices' (Williams, 1980: 16), may be helpful in relation to our academic traditions of thinking about human-environment interactions. What is worth preserving in past ways of thinking, and what needs renovating? For

Raymond Williams, literary 'tradition' provided a common example of a 'false totality' into which the 'facts of change' are projected, contained and made at last, like the rocks, [to] stand still. Except, of course, that in the actual physical sciences we soon learn, even against everyday experience, that only some rocks stand still, and that even these are the products of change: the continuing history of the earth. It is not really from science, but from certain philosophical and ideological systems, and I suppose ultimately from religions, that these apparent totalities, which contain, override or rationalize change, are projected. (Williams, 1980:15-16)

The nature of change in the physical Earth is much better understood now than it was in 1971, when Williams first wrote these words. However, the notion of tradition as being suspended apart from time - as opposed to an active and continuous set of choices firmly embedded within history - has been more persistent. I have identified throughout the book some points of convergence between the sciences and humanities in thinking about change and continuity. Some of our most traditional empirical tools, such as appropriate scale, are vindicated. Others, such as environmental agency, require some rehabilitation to work off the lingering effects of environmental determinism. This is an urgent task because the constructivist critique - important in so many ways - flounders somewhat when it meets the biophysical landscape. Today's students will be well placed to take on these challenges if they have been trained in transdisciplinary thinking and have multidisciplinary skills. They will perhaps also be the generation of thinkers who can take on the more profound and difficult task with which I began: to rethink people into nature in such a way that we can better manage the Earth. Intellectual weapons which conceptualize humans and nature separately are in tension with the evidence that human influences are now embedded in virtually all Earth processes. The challenge for all of us is to make this tension a creative one.

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Index

Note: page numbers in bold refer to figures and illustrations; page numbers in italics refer to tables and boxes. Aachen Cathedral 92 Abies alba 114-15,116 Abies spectabilis 134 Aboriginal people colonization 19,30 environmental aspirations 121-2,122,150 fire management 129-30,129 fish weir 61 globalization 124-5 heritage dilemmas 156 and introduced animals 123-4 knowledge systems 123-A, 123 and landscape concept 55-6 localness 124-5 and national identity 139^10 prehistoric social landscapes 61, 61, 63 quarrying yams xix-xxii, xx-xxii rock art 147 tourism 150 Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park 94-8,123,150 Acer spp. 39,114-15,116 acid deposition 31-2 Africa and colonization 18 critical management issues 44 deforestation 26-7, 73-6, 73-4, 75 driving forces for change 44 human-wildlife conflicts 130-1, 231,132 hunter-gatherer landscapes 26-7, 26 national identity 138,139 national parks 113-14,114-15,130-1,131,132 pollen records 15 refugium theory 40 rock art 112,150,152,153 sacred groves 90,132-3,133 species responses 38,40 African civet 131 agriculture arbor-centric management 134-5 Common Agricultural Policy 105-7

contested landscapes xx-xxi, xxi critical management issues 44 cultural landscape narratives 77, 78, 79 developing countries 130-1,131, 232 domestication of hunter-gatherers 61-4 game farming 131 and identity 136-7 palaeoecological records 18,24-30,33 Pyrenees 93 and restoration ecology 105-8 agro-forestry, pollen records 15, 29-30, 29 Ahakagyezi Swamp 26,27 Americas see Central America; North America; South America analogy, use in climate change research 72-3 Anangu 94-8,123,123 animal fossils see palaeoecology animal life see fauna Antiaris africana 133 Aotearoa see New Zealand Appleton Charter for the Protection and Enhancement of the Built Environment 110-11 archaeological sites preservation 99 protection 86, 86-7,92-3 archaeology differential preservation 63, 64 heritage 146-7,147,148 interpretations of evidence 152 and national identity 138-45,140-4 and palaeoecology colonization 19,23-4, 24 hunter-gatherer landscapes 25,26, 30 social landscapes 57-65 architectural works 86, 86-7, 91, 92-3 art landscapes 55 World Heritage Convention sites 92, 93 see also rock art

170 INDEX

Asia climax forests 133-5,134 critical management issues 44 driving forces for change 44 forest narratives 76-7 heritage and stability 146,146 indigenous peoples 120 Korean pagoda 56 palaeoecology 15,18 pollen records 15 sacred groves 90,132 tourism 148 World Heritage Convention sites 90, 92, 93 associative cultural landscapes 83,85,90, 91-2 Australia Aboriginal environmental aspirations 121-2, 222,150 archaeology and identity 139-40 critical management issues 44 cupule rock art 147,148 driving forces for change 44 fire management 129-30,129 fossil mammal sites 89-90 globalization 124-5 heritage dilemmas 156 implications of landscape 55-6 introduced animals 123-4 knowledge systems 123-4, 223 localness 124-5 national identity 139-40,141,149 national parks 83,84, 89,90,94-8 cultural construction 56,113 fire 129 knowledge systems 123, 223 and national identity 140 restoration ecology 102 tourism 96, 97,150, 252 wilderness ideal 56 palaeoecology 18 colonization 18-20,20 hunter-gatherer landscapes 30,31 prehistoric social landscapes 61,61,63 preservation landscapes 113 preserving archaeological sites 99 quarrying yams xix-xxii, xx-xxii restoration ecology 102,104-5,109,113,124 river restoration 109 tourism 96, 97,149-50, 252 wilderness ideal 56 Australia ICOMOS Charter for the Conservation of Places of Cultural Significance 110, 111 Avebury stone circles 59,60,92 Ayers Rock see Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park Ayodhya 143,145 baboons 131 Bacon's Castle 138 Bambusa vulgaris 133

barrows 26,59,60 Batek people 120 beech 39 beguinages 92-3 Belgium, heritage sites 92-3 Benin, forest cover 73, 75 biodiversity chronologies of change 17 disturbance-heterogeneity hypothesis 135,135 human impacts on 42 human-wildlife conflicts 130-1 indigenous knowledge systems 124 reserved lands 113 science as social process 57 World Heritage Convention 87,88,89 see also fauna; flora biophysical processes 7, 8 bird species 42 Maori traditional harvest 125, 226, 227-8 palaeoecology 21, 21,22 social constructions of nature 53—4 World Heritage Convention 88 Boyana Church 92 Brazil, refugium theory 40 British Isles colonization 18 conifer forests 32 created landscapes 117-18 hedgerows 105-6,106-7,107-8, 207 hunter-gatherers 25-6 lake acidification 32 and national identity 139,140 prehistoric social landscapes 58-61, 64, 65 preservation landscapes 113 restoration ecology 105-8,106-7, 207, 111 World Heritage Convention sites 92 Bronze Age hunter-gatherers 26 Buddhism 146,147 built structures heritage 146-7,147 and national identity 139^0,140,142,143,144 prehistoric social landscapes 59, 60, 62-3 protection 86,86-7,91,92-3 restoration 109-11, 220-22 spaces within 137-8 Bulgaria, Boyana Church 92 Burra Charter 220, 111 bushbuck 232 bushpig 232 carbon dating 15,19,21 carbon dioxide (CO2) 42, 227 carbon releases 2 7 carbon tetrachloride production 2 7 Gary a spp. 39 Castanea dentata 39 Casuarina pollen records 25,29-30,29 categorizations 8

INDEX

cathedrals 92 Central America agriculturalists 30 climate change research 72-3 colonization 23-4 heritage sites 92 Cephalophus spp. 132 Cercopithecus spp. 232 ceremonial structures 59, 60, 62-3 change in global change research 43-5 as the norm 34-5, 36-8, 40-3,44-5,102 charcoal records 26 colonization 19, 20, 21-2 hunter-gatherers 26-7, 26, 28, 30, 31 chestnut 39 Chile, restoration projects 103 chimpanzee 232 China critical management issues 44 driving forces for change 44 heritage sites 93 national identity 138 churches 92-3 Civetictis civetta 232 civets 131 Clarens Formation sandstone 222 Clementsian model of succession 37, 37,40, 75 climate change or anthropogenic influences 19-20, 21, 22, 25-30, 29 critical management issues 44 cultural processes in research 70-3, 72 human impacts on 42,44 predictions from the past 117 and preservation landscapes 114-15,116 and restoration ecology 105 climax forests 133-5,134,135 Coa Valley, rock art 93 coastal landscapes xxi-xxii, xxii cognitive landscape, preservation 64 Cola gigantea 133 Colobus guereza 131 colobus monkey 232 Colombia, colonization 23 colonialism 9 deforestation narratives 75 indigenous knowledge systems 123 national identity 138-9,140,141-2,143,145 national parks 120 post-colonialism 50 tourism 150,152 wilderness 56 colonization and identity 136-7 palaeoecology 18-24, 33 Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) 105-7 conceived landscapes 137

conifer forests European distribution 114-15,116 impacts 31-2 and livestock grazing 134-5 consciousness, prehistoric people 64,65 conservation agriculture-wildlife conflicts 130,131 cultural landscape narratives 77, 79 developing countries 130 forest narratives 76-7 and indigenous peoples 121-2, 222,123-4 and Maori traditional harvest 125, 226-7 and non-equilibrium ecology 37, 38 sacred groves 131-3,133 social constructions of nature 53-4 and tourism 147-8 training in 152-3 wilderness ideal 56-7 constructed landscapes 137 construction, idea of 3, 7 contested identities 145-7 contested landscapes Australia xx-xxi, 55-6,96, 98,139^0 and identity 136-7,139^5 contingency 3, 7, 8 restoration ecology 102 contingent constructions 7-9 continuing landscapes 85,90 continuum conceptualization, disciplines 5-6, 5 coral reefs 88 Cote d'lvoire, deforestation 73, 75 created landscapes 99,100,117-18 crested porcupine 232 crocodiles 125 cultural heritage cultural landscape narratives 77, 78, 79 and history 145 and national identity 138-45,140-4 preservation 111-12 protection 83-98 tourism 147-52 cultural landscape concepts 3-9,13-15,14 discourse materialized 77-8, 79 World Heritage Convention 84-93 culture knowledge production processes 66-79 Sauerian view 14-15, 52-3 social construction 49-53 cupule rock art 147,148 Czech Republic 92 dating techniques 15,19,21 deconstruction, postmodernism 50 deforestation arbor-centric management 134-5 critiques of narratives of 73-7 frontiers of land use 130 palaeoecology

172

172

INDEX

deforestation cont. chronologies of change 17 colonization 21-2, 22 future directions 33 hunter-gatherers/agriculturalists 25-7, 30 developing countries 130 agriculture-wildlife conflicts 130-1,131,132 climax forests 133-5,134,135 sacred groves 131-3,133 diatoms 15 Dichapetalum guineense 133 Dioscorea spp. xix disciplinary structures 5-7 disequilibrium ecology see non-equilibrium ecology disturbance 40-3, 44 disturbance-heterogeneity hypothesis 135,135 Diversitas 72 domestication 61-4 Drypetes floribunda 133 dualisms in geography 3, 5-7 indigenous peoples 120 non-equilibrium ecology 36-7 duiker 131 Earth, pixellated views 68, 69 Earth system, human impacts 42,42 ecological artefact, landscape as 55 ecology non-equilibrium 34-5, 36-8, 40-3,102 subtle human effects 43, 43 view of people within 41, 42,43,43, 44,44 education conservation managers 152-3 of visitors 154 Egypt climate change research 72-3 heritage sites 92 El Nino 22, 27, 29, 30 elephant 130,131 Emei 93 enclosure sites 59, 60, 61 Endangered Species Act (USA) 53-4 England see British Isles environmental management 99-100 challenges 155-6 creation 99,100,117-18 critical issues 44 deforestation narratives 75-6 developing countries 130-5 fire 129-30 and indigenous peoples 96,120-30,150,151 knowledge production implications 67, 70, 71, 75-8, 79 and non-equilibrium ecology 37, 38, 41-2 preservation 78, 98, 99,100,111-16,117,118 protecting places 83-98 restoration 99,100-11,113,118,124

temporal references 118 tourism 96,147-8,150,151,154 training 152-3 vocabulary limitations 118 wilderness 57 Environmentally Sensitive Areas (ESAs) 107-8 equilibrium 34-5, 36-8,40-3,102 estuarine landscapes xxi-xxii, xxii ethnicity and Jomon archaeology 143 Sami people 141,142 Europe climate change research 72-3 colonization 18 conifer forests 32,114-15,116 created landscapes 117-18 heritage sites 92-3 hunter-gatherers 25-6 lake acidification 31-2 landscape administration 77-8, 78-9 national identities 138,139,140-3 prehistoric social landscapes 57-61, 62, 64, 65 preservation landscapes 113,115,116 restoration ecology 103,105-9, 111 tourism 141,149 tree distribution 115,116 European Union, agriculture 105-7 evergreen oak 115,116 exclusion, landscapes of 56 Fagus grandifolia 39 farming see agriculture fauna African national parks 113,114 agriculture conflicts 130-1,131,132 future global change 117 human impacts on 42 colonization 19, 20, 21, 21, 22, 23^, 24 and indigenous peoples 123-4,123,125 introduced species 123-4 Maori traditional harvest 125-8 palaeoecology 16 chronologies of change 17 colonization 19, 20, 21, 21, 22, 23-4,24 refugium theory 40 reserved lands 113 social constructions of nature 53^4 Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park 95,123 World Heritage Convention 87, 88 feminism 50, 50, 51 fir forests European distribution 114-15,116 and livestock grazing 134-5 fire management 129-30 fire records 16 colonization 19,21-2,23,24 hunter-gatherers/agriculturalists 27,29, 30,31 research strategies 23

INDEX

fish weir, Australia 61 fisheries 42 Flemish beguinages 92-3 floodplains ritualization 26,61 river restoration 108,109 flora Aboriginal-plant interactions 63 Clementsian model of succession 37, 37,40, 75 climax forests 133-5 future global change 117 Gleasonian model 37,38 human impacts on 42,44 see also flora, palaeoecology knowledge production processes 73-7 Maori traditional harvest 226,127, 227 palaeoecology 15,16,18 agriculturalist landscapes 15, 29-30, 29 chronologies of change 17 colonization 18-20,21-2,23^ hunter-gatherer landscapes 25-7 refugium theory 40 species and community 38-40 pre-human New Zealand forests 103-5, 204,104 reserved lands 113 restoration ecology 103-5, 111 sacred groves 90,131-3,133 species and community 38-40,115,117 Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park 95 World Heritage Convention 87,88 forests arbor-centric management 133-5 climax 133-5,134,135 created landscapes 117-18 critical management issues 44 deforestation narrative critiques 73-7 developing countries 132-5 driving forces for change 44,114 frontiers of land use 130 indigenous dwellers 120-1 palaeoecology agro-forestry 25, 29-30, 29 chronologies of change 2 7 colonization 19,21-2,23,24 future directions 33 hunter-gatherer landscapes 25-7 influencing scientific thought 38 lake acidification 31-2 pollen 25 refugium theory 40 species responses 38, 39,40,115 preserving landscapes 113 and quarrying yams xix restoration 102,103-5, 204,104 sacred groves 131-3,133 World Heritage Convention 88, 92,93 fossil (relict) landscapes 85,90 fossil records, study see palaeoecology

France heritage sites 92, 93 restoration ecology 103,107 game farming 131 gardens 85,90, 91, 137-8 gender, and archaeology 63,64 general circulation models (GCMs) 67-8,116 Germany heritage sites 92 national identities 138 river restoration 109 Ghana forest cover 73, 75 sacred groves 132,133 Giant's Castle Game Reserve 150,152,153 Gleasonian model of plant communities 37, 38 global change research change in 43-5 culture processes in 66-9, 70 globalization 124-5 Globe playhouse 111 grasslands 22, 44 Green Spring plantation 137-8 Greivia carpinifolia 133 Guinea, forest cover 73, 74, 74, 75 harvest, traditional 125-8 hedgerows 105-7,106-7, 207 heritage dilemmas in concept of 156 and history 145 and identity 136,138^7 interpretation 152,153 narratives 77, 78, 79 preservation 111-12 protection 83-98 tourism 147-52 hickory 39 Hindu sites 143,145 Hippocratea africana 133 history, and heritage 145 Holocene fossil record 14,16 agro-forestry 29-30, 29 colonization 18,18, 21-2, 23,24 hunter-gatherers 25, 26-7, 29, 30, 31 post-industrial impacts 31-2 refugium theory 40 species responses 39,40 HorshArzel-Rab92 houses and identity 137-8 prehistoric settlement patterns 59 human geography 4, 5, 6 humanities/science dialectic 50-2 humanized landscapes 119 colonization 18-24,33 developing countries 130

273

174

INDEX

humanized landscapes cont. agriculture-wildlife conflicts 130-1,131, 232 climax forests 133-5,134,135 sacred groves 131-3,133 indigenous peoples 119-22 fire 129-30 and globalization 124-5 knowledge systems 123-4, 223 traditional harvest 125-8 living landscapes 119-20 Hungary, heritage sites 92 hunter-gatherers domestication 61-4 and identity 142-3 palaeoecological records 18,24-30,33 prehistoric social landscapes 59, 61-4 rock art 150,152 Hystrix africae-australis 232 ice age areas 87 identity 136 contested 145-7 and the past 136-45 and tourism 141,142,143,147-52 ideology, landscape as 55 Independence Hall (USA) 92 India and colonialism 139,143,145 forest narratives 76-7 sacred groves 132 indigenous peoples 119-22 fire 129-30 and globalization 124-5 and identity 136-7,139,142 knowledge systems 123-4, 223 and tourism 96,149-50, 252 traditional harvest 125-8 see also Aboriginal people; Maoris Indonesia colonization 19 hunter-gatherers 27-30,28-9 industrialization global climate change research 70 palaeoecology 30-2 river channelization 109 inorganic sediments 26 insects 2 6 International Committee on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) 84,109-11, 220-22 International Geosphere-Biosphere Programme (IGBP) 43-4, 71-2, 72 International Human Dimensions Programme on Global Environmental Change (IHDP) 72 International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) 84,84 internationalization, of research 70-2 Ireland, social landscapes 58-9, 60,61

Iron Age hunter-gatherers 26,27 stallo dwellings 142 irrigated agriculture xx-xxi, xxi irrigated rice terraces 90 Italy, heritage sites 92 Japan heritage sites 92 national identity 138,139,143,143,144 Jomon archaeology 143,144 Kabata Swamp 26-7, 26 Kakadu National Park 84, 98 Khumbu, Sagarmatha National Park 133-5,134 Kibale National Park 130, 232 Kissidougou, deforestation 73, 74, 74, 75 knowledge production 9, 36 cultural processes 66-79 knowledge systems, indigenous peoples 123-4, 123 knowledge traditions 3 knowledges, situated 51, 74 Korea landscapes of heritage 146 national identity 138,139 pagodas 56 tourism 248 lake acidification 31-2 Lake Victoria 26-7, 26 land ownership contested landscapes xx-xxi, 55-6,96,98 and identity 136-7,139-5 preserving landscapes 113 land transformation critical management issues 44 driving forces for change 44 human impacts on 13-18, 42 see also agriculture; colonization; hunter-gatherers; industrialization landscape concept 49-52, 54-6 'landscape as context of activity' 59,61 landscape management see environmental management 'landscapes from the outside' 59 language, inaccessibility 51 L'Anse aux Meadows National Historic Park 92 Laponian World Heritage Area 93,141,149 Lapps (Sami) 93,140-3 lead releases 2 7 Lebanon, heritage sites 92 Lednice-Valtice cultural landscape 92 Leitbild 109 Liberia, deforestation 73, 75 lineage, and heritage 145-6 literature, landscapes 55 livestock farming 130-1, 232, 232,134-5 living landscapes 119-20

INDEX

localness 124-5 Loxodonta africana 130,131 Lushan National Park 93 Madagascar, colonization 24 Malaysia, indigenous peoples 120-1 management of environment see environmental management Maoris forest clearance 22 identity 136-7 introduced animals 123 and restoration ecology 103,104,105 traditional harvest 125-8 maple 39 marine fisheries 42 material culture, landscape as 55, 63, 64 Mayan civilization agriculture 30 climate change research 72-3 colonization 23 heritage sites 92 megaliths 26,59,60, 62-3 Mesa Verde 92 Mesolithic hunter-gatherers 25 social landscapes 58, 59, 61-2 metaphors, landscape 54,55 Mexico, palaeoecology 15 Millenary Benedictine Abbey 92 Minnamurra National Park 102 moas 21, 21, 22,125 modernism 50 Moenjodaro 92 molluscs 16 monasteries 92 monkeys 131 monuments colonial 139 heritage 146-7,147 and national identity 139-140,140,143,144 prehistoric social landscapes 59,60,62-3 protection 83, 86,86-7,91,92 restoration 109-11, 110-11 Mozambique colonial monuments 139 national parks 114,115 Mubwinai Swamp 26 Muchoya Swamp 26-7,26 multiple landscapes 58-61 Mungo National Park 140 Murramarang 99 Muslim sites 143,145 Namibia 130-1,132 Nandinia binotata 131 Napoleoneae vogelii 133 Nara 92

275

Natal Drakensberg Park 150,152,152 National Forest (England) 117-18 national identities 138-45 national parks 84,113-15 associative cultural landscapes 90 climax forests 133-5,134 cultural construction 56,57,113 fire management 129 and knowledge systems 123 and Maori traditional harvest 127 multiple cultural bases 89 and national identity 140 private and public space 113 restoration ecology 102 superparks 114,115 tourism 96, 97,149,150,151 Uluru-Kata Tjuta 83,84,89,90, 94-8,123,150 wilderness ideal 56, 57,120 Yellowstone model 113,120 natural heritage, management 84 World Heritage Convention 86,87-9, 89-90 natural landscapes 3-5,14-15,14, 83-4 naturalness 34 and restoration ecology 101-2,103-5 nature, concept of 49-52,53-4,56-7 nature reserves 113 Neolithic hunter-gatherers 25,26 social landscapes 58, 59, 61-2 Nepal, forests 133-5,134 new cultural geography 53 new ecology see non-equilibrium ecology New Guinea charcoal records 16 hunter-gatherers 27-30, 28-9 location map 28 pollen records 15 prehistoric social landscapes 63 New Zealand identity and the past 136-7 introduced animals 123 national parks 90,123,127 palaeoecology colonization 19,20-2,21-2,23,24,33 pollen 15 research strategies 23 pre-human forests 103-5,104,104 preservation landscapes 113 restoration landscapes 103-5,104,104, 111, 113 traditional harvest 125-8 Newbouldia laevis 133 Ngorongoro Conservation Area 113,114 Ninstints village 92 nitrogen fixation 42 nitrogen releases 17 non-equilibrium ecology 34-5,36-8,40-3,44 \ 102 North America critical management issues 44

276

INDEX

North America cont. driving forces for change 44,114 ecological restoration 101 gardens 137-8 global change research 67, 68 heritage sites 89,92 landscape archaeology 57-8 national parks 56, 89,113 non-equilibrium ecology 37 palaeoecology 15,16,18 influencing scientific thought 38 lake acidification 31-2 species responses 38,39 preserved landscapes 112,113 restoration ecology 109,113 river restoration 109 social constructions of nature 53-4 wilderness ideal 56 Norway, landscape administration 77-8, 78-9 oak trees 115,116,135 oil shale deposits 32 olive baboon 132 organically evolved landscapes 85 origins, and heritage 145-6 othering process, tourism 149-50 owls, and purified nature 53—4 Pacific islands palaeoecology 16,21 prehistoric social landscapes 63 see also New Zealand pagodas 56 paintings, protection 92 see also rock art Pakistan, Moenjodaro 92 palaeoecology 34,36 and human impacts 13-18 agriculturalists 18, 24-30,33 chronologies of change 15-16, 27 colonization 18-24, 33 future directions 32-3 hunter-gatherers 18,24-30,33 limitations 32, 33,40,42 people and disturbance 40-3,44 post-industrial impacts 30-2 strengths 32,33,40,42 influencing scientific thought 38 knowledge production conditions 70 refugium theory 40 species and community 38—40,115 Palaeolithic, culture/nature duality 62 palm civet 232 palynology see pollen records Pan troglodytes 131 Pannonhalma, Benedictine Abbey 92 Papio cynocephalus 131 Paraguay 113

parkland landscapes 85,90 pastoralists 136-7,140-1,142-3 pathways 59 Penan people of Sarawak 120-1 Philippines 90 phosphorus releases 27 physical geography 3-4,5,6 phytoliths26 pixellated views of Earth 68,69 place(s) protection 83-98 sense of 59 plant fossils see palaeoecology plant life see flora plant opal silica bodies 16 Pleistocene fossil record agriculturalists 29 colonization 23,24 refugium theory 40 pollen records 25,18 colonization 18,21,23 hunter-gatherer landscapes 25-7,29-30 influencing scientific thought 38 research strategies 23 population size 27 porcupine 232 Portugal, rock art 93 post-colonialism 50 deforestation narratives 75 and identity 139 and wilderness 56 post-industrial impacts 30-2 postmodernism 50-1,50,146 Potamocherus porous 131 prehistoric landscapes 57-65 heritage 146-7,147 heritage sites 92, 93 prehistoric rock art 93,111-12, 222 and identity 146-7,147 tourism 150,152 prehistory analogues 72-3 pre-human New Zealand forests 103-5, 104, 104 preservation of landscapes 99,100,111-16, 117, 118 differential preservation 63, 64 future generations 98 implicit tendency 78 and stability 145-6 see also national parks private space 113,137 protecting places 83-98 public space 113,137 purified nature 53-4 Pyramid fields 92 Pyrenees 93 Quadi Qadisha 92 quarrying yams xix-xxii, xx-xxii

INDEX

Quaternary fossil record 31 colonization 19, 20 limitations 40, 41 refugium theory 40, 41 strengths 40,41 see also Holocene fossil record; Pleistocene fossil record Quercus spp. 115,116,135 radiometric dating techniques 15,19, 21 rainforests critical management issues 44 driving forces for change 44 palaeoecology colonization 19 refugium theory 40 species and community 40 and quarrying yams xix restoration 102 sacred groves 132 World Heritage Convention 88 Rakiura island titi harvest 127-8 recursive conceptualization, disciplines 6-7, 6 red duiker 231 red tail monkey 231 refugium theory 40 reindeer pastoralism 140-1,142-3,149 relativism 51 relict (fossil) landscapes 85, 90 religious sites protection 92-3 sacred groves 132 representations 7 research by conservation managers 152-3 change in global 43-5 concept of culture in 66-9, 70 contexts of 9 internationalization 70-2 Maori traditional harvest 125 palaeoecological site selection 22,23 reserved lands 113-14 see also national parks restoration of landscapes 99,100-11,113,118,124 rice terraces 90 ritual structures 59, 60, 62-3 rivers importance to the Penan 120 restoration 108-9,108,109 Riversleigh fossil mammal site 89-90 rock art 93,111-12,112 and identity 146-7,147 and tourism 150,152,153 rock weathering 112,147 sacred groves 90,131-3,133 Sagarmatha National Park 133-5,134 Sami people 93,140-3,149

San rock art 150,152,153 Sannai Maruyama 143,143,144 Sarek National Park 149,149 Sauerian view of culture 14-15, 52-3 science indigenous knowledge systems 123-4,123 knowledge production 66-79 landscape protection for 84 as social process 57 science/humanities dialectic 50-2 Scotland, restoration ecology 105-8 sedimentary records 15,15-16,18 agro-forestry 25,29-30, 29 colonization 19, 20, 21-2,23-4 hunter-gatherer landscapes 25-7, 28, 30, 31 influencing scientific thought 38 research strategies 23 Serengeti National Park 113,114 settlement patterns, prehistoric 59 shale oil production 32 shearwaters 127-8 Sherpa people 133-5 Sierra Leone, forest cover 73, 73, 75 signs, landscape as 55 Silbury Hill 59, 60 silver fir 114-15,116 sites prehistoric social landscapes 59, 60, 61 protection 86,86-9,89-90,92-3,147,156 restoration 109-11,110-11 situated knowledges 51,74 deforestation narratives 74 social constructions 8,49,50-2 culture 50-3 domestication 61-4 landscape 54-6,56 landscape archaeology 57-65 nature 53-4, 56-7 wilderness 56-7 social contexts, knowledge production 36 social process, science as 57 social theory, and landscapes 52,52 Society for Ecological Restoration 101 soil instability 16 sooty shearwater harvest 127-8 South Africa national parks 114,115 rock art 112,150,152,153 San people 150,152 South America frontiers of land use 130 national parks and reserves 113 palaeoecology agriculturalists 30 colonization 23—4 refugium theory 40 species responses 38 restoration projects 103

177

178

INDEX

South Korea landscapes of heritage 146 pagodas 56 tourism 248 Spain, heritage sites 93 spatial scale of change 35,35 sphagnum bogs 111 spiritual aspects of landscape 90,92,94 climbing Uluru 96,150,151 crocodiles 125 heritage dilemmas 156 and identity 141,145 Maori traditional harvest 125 sacred groves 90,131-3,133 spotted owls 53^4 stability and heritage 145-6 and non-equilibrium ecology 35,36-8,40-3 'stallo' sites 142 Stewart island titi harvest 127-8 Stonehenge 92 stones, prehistoric monuments 59, 60, 62-3, 92, 146-7

stream rehabilitation 109 Strophanthus hispidus 133 subtle human effects 43,43 succession, Clementsian model 37, 37,40, 75 sulphur releases 17 Summer Palace (Beijing) 93 sustainability as dangerous concept 44-5 developing countries 130 localness and globalization 124-5 and Maori traditional harvest 125, 226,127, 228 Sweden Laponian Area 93,141,149 Sami people 93,140-3 tourism 141,149 sycamore 114-15,116 symbols landscape as 55 prehistoric social landscapes 59, 60, 62-3 Tanzania, national parks 113,114 temples 93 temporal dimensions identity 136-45 long-term impacts on Earth 13-16,14, 27, 28 restoration ecology 102,103-5,103,104 subtle human effects on ecosystems 43,43 temporal scale of change 35, 35, 36 text, landscape as 4, 55 Thailand, heritage 146 theatres 111 Tiliacorafunifera 133 time see temporal dimensions titi harvest 227-8 Tjukurpa 94-5,96,123

Togo, forest cover 73, 75 tombs, megalithic 26, 59, 60 Tongariro National Park 90 totalization 51 tourism and human-wildlife conflicts 131 and identity 141,142,143,147-52 Laponian World Heritage Area 141,149 preserved landscapes 112,112 Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park 96, 97,150, 252 visitor management strategies 254 tradition(s) dilemmas of 156 and globalization 124-5 heritage and stability 146 and identity 136 Maori harvest 125-8 tourism in Africa 150 Tragelaphus scriptus 131 training, conservation managers 152-3 'transforming the landscape' 59,61 trees, distribution 114-15,116 see also forests Trichilia prieuriania 133 Triplochiton scleroxylon 133 tropics critical management issues 44 driving forces for change 44 refugium theory 40 see also rainforests Troy 92 tundra-boreal forest 44 Turkey, heritage sites 92 Uffington, White Horse 64, 65 Uganda human-wildlife conflicts 130, 232 hunter-gatherer landscapes 26-7, 26 Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park 83, 84,89, 90, 94-8 climbing Uluru 96,150,151 knowledge systems 123, 223 tourism 96, 97,150, 252 UNESCO, World Heritage Convention 83-98,141, 149 urban landscapes 55 US National Research Council ecological restoration 202 global change research 67, 68 USA see North America vegetation see flora; forests Venezuela, colonization 23 Venice 92 Venice Charter for the Conservation and Restoration of Monuments and Sites 109, 220, 111 Versailles 92 vervet monkey 232 Victoria, Lake 26-7, 26

INDEX

Vietnam, archaeology 138-9 visual resource, landscape as 55 volcanic events 29, 30 volcanoes 87 war, and nationhood 141 water use 42 water withdrawals 17 Western land systems 95, 95 Western thinking deforestation narratives 75 dualisms in 3 ethnocentrism 50,50 knowledge systems 123-4 landscape archaeology 58 Maori traditional harvest 125-7 social constructions of nature 53,57 White Horse of Uffington 64, 65 wild, the, culturing of 62 wilderness 56-7 and indigenous peoples 120

protection 84,84, 89 and tourism 148-50 wildlife see fauna; flora Williamsburg 112 wood, sedimentary records 16,21-2 World Climate Research Programme (WCRP) 72 World Heritage Convention 83^4 cultural heritage categories 84, 86,86-7,89-93 cultural landscape categories 85 future generations 98 Laponian Area 93,141,149 natural heritage categories 86, 87-9, 89-90 Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park 94-8 yams xix-xxii, xx-xxii Yellowstone National Park 89,113 Yosemite National Park 89 Zimbabwe national parks 114,115 sacred wood 90

279